We Learned the Sea
by luckei1
Summary: Draco Malfoy turns himself in after a very successful career as a Death Eater, then enlists Harry and Hermione to help him in a scheme to bring down the Dark Lord. DHr. A story of forgiveness.
1. The Enemy Walks In

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or any part of his world. It's fun to be here, though!

**Note: **The title of the story, "We Learned the Sea," is the title of a song by the amazing Dar Williams**  
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**Chapter 1 – The Enemy Walks In**

Draco Malfoy was the most wanted man in the Wizarding world, allowing for the fact that Voldemort wasn't actually human. If he were, Draco Malfoy would be wanted man number two. But semantics aside, he was highly sought after.

It was now four years since he had stood on the astronomy tower at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and failed to kill the Headmaster of the school. That night he left with a fellow Death Eater, Severus Snape, and was taken to the Dark Lord. Needless to say, the master was very angry. He told Draco there were two options: kill, or be killed. Draco was a sensible kind of person, with a particular regard for his own skin, and so chose the sensible path. Then, having conquered, at least in part, the hesitancy that led to his failure in his first mission, he jumped in head first and never looked back. After all, it was kill or be killed.

Draco grew in power and skill, advancing through the ranks slowly at first, but in the last year and a half he'd shot up to stand beside the Dark Lord as just less than an equal, Voldemort's go-to guy. He even surpassed his father, which made for very interesting family dinners, which his mother required, every night possible. Draco never missed an opportunity to rub his position in his father's face, nor flaunt his skills with a wand. Though his father was more advanced in years and in some areas of magic, Draco could easily defeat him in a duel, which he proved one night when Lucius had become so angered at his son's arrogance and superiority that he challenged him to fight. Narcissa had been beside herself with worry and fear, mostly for her son, though she dared not show partiality.

But fight they did. It was shorter than Draco had expected, and it disappointed him. After so many years of being compared to his father and always falling in his shadow, it shouldn't have been so easy to defeat him. Perhaps it was the years Lucius spent in servitude and pain during the Dark Lord's first reign, then the fear and constant worry that gnawed on his gut during his Master's absence, and then again the last 7 years of servitude and pain that had slowed his reflexes and fogged his mind. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Whatever the factors were that played into Lucius' defeat, Draco didn't give them a second thought. He had finally defeated his father, defeated all those who looked down on his from his youth, and left him groveling. When Draco held his father's wand in his hand, his own pointed at his throat, it made him feel good, in a sick, twisted sort of way. He was able to look his father in the eye and finally know he was better than him. And Lucius couldn't return his son's gaze for a very long time after that night.

But shouldn't Lucius be proud? Draco thought bitterly, a few weeks after the fight. He _wanted_ me to become what I am, to follow in his footsteps; but he never imagined I would surpass him. He never wanted me to succeed at anything, really. He wanted to have someone to berate and destroy because he was so miserable himself. And all because one night, Lucius had run into an old friend at a seedy bar in Hogsmeade who said, "Say, Malfoy old friend. I've met the answer to all our problems with Muggles and the like. He talks good, Malfoy, he does. Real thinker, that one. He'll be something great, just watch. What say I introduce you?" That night had been the start of Lucius' destruction, a path of darkness that would cast a long shadow over his family.

After the fight, Narcissa knew who was the victor. She noticed that Lucius drank more and she saw fear in his eyes when he looked at their son. Draco was even more distant with her, barely speaking at meals, and seeming to grow more and more angry and bitter. When Narcissa found out that Draco had achieved the position of the Dark Lord's favored, she wept for her son. As he rose to the top, she saw him dying a little bit more each day until finally there was nothing left that resembled the boy she pictured in her head who was innocent and free of darkness. Narcissa kept no pictures of Draco in her room except those from that time, before he turned four. After that, the smiles and laughs from him grew increasingly rare until they disappeared altogether before he went to Hogwarts.

Narcissa had never wanted Lucius to go down the path he chose, never wanted to be the wife of a Death Eater, despised and forsaken by the man she had once loved, and the absolute last thing she ever wanted was for her son to follow him into darkness. But that summer, right before his sixth year, Draco had come home late one night, much more pale than usual. When he saw his mother, there was a brief instant, fractional, when she looked into his eyes and saw death staring back at her. But it was gone in another instant, replaced by his typical smirk. She knew, of course; she'd seen that look in so many eyes. Her husband, her sister, her friends, her friends' husbands. And now her only son would live in terror for all his life.

When she saw the results of her son defeating her husband, Narcissa emptied herself. She became a hollow shell wandering aimlessly through the house, going through the motions of acting like the faithful wife of a Death Eater. Motions she abhorred, for their ignorance and their arrogance. As a girl, she saw what prejudice did to her own family; she hadn't seen her own sister in over 20 years. The estrangement left a hole in Narcissa's heart, though she would never discuss or admit it. Sometimes Draco would find her in her sitting room, crying unashamedly into an old handkerchief embroidered with the Black family crest. She never spoke when he found her, only smiled warmly at him and waved him off as though there was nothing the matter. As much as he truly hated seeing his mother cry, those were the only times she smiled at him that way.

There was no way Narcissa could deal with her miserable life, a life she hadn't quite chosen. Lucius hadn't always been the man he now was, but she couldn't very well go to Lucius one day and tell him that maybe following the Dark Lord isn't the direction this family should be moving and they should consider giving the light a try. No, she'd lost the ability to speak long ago.

Draco thought of his parents often, though not with real fondness or regard. He knew there was something his mother kept hidden from him, but he never would have guessed it. So he quit trying. The night when he'd come home late with the look of death in his eyes, he too saw something when he looked at his mother's fair blue pair – shame. It shook him to his core; he smirked in order to mask what he was feeling , but he never understood the look she gave him. He tried to reason with himself that it hadn't been for him; after all, what shame was there in joining their cause? But those eyes, pale blue and full of raw life, often haunted his dreams.

Now, four years later to the day, Draco was sitting in his room, looking around for one last time. It would be a while before he returned, if all went according to plan, and he checked to make sure everything was in place. Satisfied, he went to the other rooms of the house to make sure they were prepared; they were. Of course they were, he was meticulous and he'd thought of everything. He'd sent his eagle owl, Bubo, away with plenty of food and directions for her care. He instructed that he would send for her when he returned, and to please feed her the pellets included and the treats were to be reserved for when she was really, really good.

Then there were his guests to consider. Present and future. He provided for them in every way he could. If all went according to plan, he would return in a month. If not, well… best not to think about; it would either be the same day or never. Draco took a long, deep breath, closed his eyes and muttered, 'it cannot be never.' He checked everything one more time. It wasn't that he was a compulsive person, but everything had to be perfect. Nothing could be forgotten or misplaced. Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It's just a house, he told himself, it doesn't have to be perfect. It will be sufficient.

Draco made his way to the dining room, where his plans were laid, and sat down to go over them one more time. Everything was set; all his planning and his efforts were about to be put on the line. There was a chance it would not work, but he refused to allow his thoughts to wander down that path. Because it had to work. If it didn't, he had no back-up plan. All the rest of his life depended on today. Despite his meticulous and detailed nature, there was no possibility of a back-up plan, no Plan B. It was all or nothing.

He went over everything again. It was something he learned in school to do before handing in exams. He was always amazed that he could pick out mistakes in his third review that he'd missed in his first two. But he'd gone over everything tens of times, and he'd been planning this for over a year. It had to work. He had never been forced to acquaint himself with failure, and he wasn't about to start now.

Draco stood and left the dining room. He went through the drawing room; the furniture was in place and the books stacked in the corner. He passed through all the rooms on the lower level, double and triple checking everything. There wasn't really much to check, as he had prepared the house three days ago, and every day since then he had double-checked everything, so it didn't take long. When he reached the front door, he turned to look back into the house. Then it hit him that he was procrastinating. With a heavy sigh, Draco Malfoy Disapparated.

He arrived somewhere most unexpected, at least for everyone who saw him. He of course knew exactly where he was going, and so was not surprised when he found himself looking at a fountain depicting a wizard, a witch, a centaur, a house elf and a goblin. At first no one noticed him as he casually walked toward the reception area. After all, hundreds of people, maybe thousands, Apparate into the Ministry every day. But then he heard it – the sound of ceramic hitting the marble floor and spilling what he presumed was very hot coffee. There were a few gasps, but everyone was so incredibly stunned that not one of them thought to draw their wands. Draco decided that no Aurors were present, else that mistake would not have been made.

Draco continued to walk toward the reception desk, his smirk ever present as he looked at the small witch behind the counter. His arrival had not made enough of a disturbance to alert the witch that someone was approaching. Had she seen him walk the path from the Apparation point to stand in front of her, she might have screamed, or drawn her wand. But instead, he actually had to clear his throat to call her attention.

The witch was talking anxiously into what looked like a headband with a stick attached that reached around her face to stop in front of her mouth. Draco watched as she became more flustered with talking into the device. When he cleared his throat, the woman finally looked up at him and when recognition dawned on her face, it turned a ghostly shade of white nearly rivaling his own complexion. Draco continued to smirk, confidence radiating from every cell in his body. The witch was frozen to her post, and she could only gape at him. Draco could sense her fear, and it emboldened him.

He casually put one arm on the counter. "Afternoon, miss," he started, nearly smiling casually, as if he was about to inquire as to where he could find the loo. When he spoke, the witch flinched as if struck. Her eyes widened as she finally realized the impact of seeing Draco Malfoy, _the _Draco Malfoy, standing in front of her, smirking, and speaking to her. To _her. _What he said was,

"Would you please inform Mr. Potter that he has a walk-in?"

o

**A/N: **Please R&R!


	2. The Unbreakable Vow

**Disclamier: **I don't own Harry Potter, I just like to play in his world.

**Note: **The title for chapter one is from Alias, Season two, Episode one.

**Chapter 2 – The Unbreakable Vow**

The witch blinked, 23 times – Draco counted – before acknowledging what he said. She stuttered, and was unable to hide her surprise. She fiddled with some paperwork on her desk, then turned to her associate and said she would return shortly.

"Right this way, please," she said, stepping from behind the desk and motioning him to follow her, though Draco knew it was the last thing she wanted. When they reached the elevators, the woman turned around nervously. "Uhm, I'm sorry, but, policy you know; I'm afraid I must ask for your wand."

Draco smirked again and pulled his smooth ebony wand from his robe pocket. He looked at the wand, then the woman, before handing it to her. Her hand shook as she gingerly reached out to take it, then stuffed it into one of the inside pockets of her robe. She turned around and pressed the button to call the lift. When it arrived, they stepped on, and the witch pressed the button for Level two.

They rode in silence; the sense of fear emanating from the woman increased noticeably at being in an enclosed space with Draco. He studied her; she was short (petite) and had straight brown hair that had been pulled into a tight bun on the back of her head. Other than that, she was unremarkable. When the doors finally opened on their destination floor, she practically ran out of the lift. She caught her breath and then started walking down the hallway.

Draco had never been to the Ministry before, and kept himself busy by looking at everything he passed. They soon arrived at a door that said, "Auror Headquarters". The witch opened the door and walked in, leading Draco. She made a straight path for an office located on the wall opposite the door. It was fortunate that most of the Aurors were at lunch; no one really noticed Draco.

Finally they stopped outside a plain, brown, wooden door. The woman raised a hand, hesitated, then knocked.

"Yes?" came a tired voice.

"M-Mr. Potter. You have a walk-in, sir."

There was no sound for a moment. Then a heavy sigh, followed by, "Did you get a name?"

"N-No, but you'll know him."

"All right. Please send him in." The woman motioned for Draco to enter the office. He opened the door and took one step inside.

Harry dropped his drink when Draco's profile appeared in the doorway. "Malfoy!" he said.

"Hello, Harry," said Draco brightly, watching with amusement as coffee slowly covered the papers on Harry's desk.

"Uhm, thank you, Donna," said Harry to the frightened witch. She left, no further encouragement needed. "Sit," he said to Malfoy, taking out his wand and repairing the mess on his desk.

Draco sat. Every movement he made told Harry that he was superior, smarter, and that he had the upper hand.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" asked Harry warily.

Draco smirked. "Didn't you hear the nice lady? I'm a walk-in."

"Yes, I heard," snapped Harry. He knew what a walk-in was, and that's why he had dropped his coffee. Draco Malfoy was here to turn himself in. He would ask for something in return, of course, as was the arrangement the Ministry kept with all its walk-ins. Then he, Harry, would have to weigh Draco's offer with against Draco himself to determine if the exchange was acceptable.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"I want out."

Harry couldn't help it; he let his jaw drop. "Out?"

"Yes, Potter, that's what I said; out."

"Out of what?"

Draco sighed and started picking non-existent dirt off his cloak. "My current occupation."

Harry sat down roughly in his chair. Draco Malfoy was sitting across from him, acting as if he had just stopped in for a chat with an old friend, and telling him he wanted to quit being a Death Eater.

"You don't just quit being a Death Eater, Malfoy."

"Just because no one has yet been successful doesn't mean it cannot be done."

"But – why?" spluttered Harry. Scenarios were darting through his mind that included Malfoy, trickery and death. "I thought you loved causing terror and torment everywhere you went, having people tremble when they see your face or hear your name."

"My, my, Potter, I didn't know you kept such a good eye on me," said Draco. He picked up a picture frame from Harry's desk. As he expected, it was of Harry, Ron and Hermione, and they were waving and hugging each other, dressed in Hogwarts graduation regalia. He smirked.

"I'm glad I didn't have to go through all that nonsense," said Draco.

Harry grabbed the picture from Draco's hands. "Why?" he repeated, angrily.

"That's for me to know."

"Well, my knowing would sure make this process run more smoothly," said Harry. Draco remained silent, however, to Harry's annoyance. "Fine. Be uncooperative. Why shouldn't I just throw you in Azkaban?"

Draco wagged a finger at Harry. "Uh-uh, Potter. I'm a walk-in. There are rules about these things, and we have negotiations to make." He sat back in the chair and casually put his arms behind his head. "Besides, I've already picked out the island to which I'm going to retire at the ripe old age of, say, 20. Maybe 21."

Just then Harry's door opened and a brown-haired witch walked in without looking up from the stack of papers she was carrying. "Hey, Harry, I was wondering if you would mind signing some things for me – oh!" She looked up when she felt another presence in the room.

Draco didn't need to look at the girl to know it was Hermione Granger. And she didn't need to see his face to know that the blond-haired man in Harry's office was none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Harry, I'll come back," she said, and started backing out of the office, careful not to let her eyes leave the back of Malfoy's head no matter what – in case he made any sudden movements.

"No, Hermione, come in. Please, have a seat," said Harry, motioning to the other available chair in his office.

She looked at her friend with wide eyes for a moment before obliging. Every cell in her body screamed at her to run, to get as far away from Malfoy as she could. But she sat silently instead.

"Malfoy here is a walk in."

Hermione said nothing and refused to look at Malfoy. She knew what a walk-in was, and she couldn't imagine why he would turn himself in.

Draco refused to look at Hermione at this point as well. He continued to watch Harry fidget with the junk on his desk.

"Negotiations, Potter," he said finally, hoping to bring Harry back to the present discussion.

"You want to negotiate? What makes you think we will negotiate with the likes of you?"

"I have met my half of the arrangement, have I not? I entered the Ministry, and turned myself in so that I might have this interview with you. My intentions will be made known, in time."

"Your intentions? You are really something, you know that? You're going to have to give us an awful lot if you hope to remain a free man." Draco just continued looking at Harry. "Names, Malfoy. A list of Death Eaters; aliases; financial records; hideouts and safehouses. Anything and everything you know about your cowardly master and how he works."

Draco sneered. "Potter, don't act like you are so high and mighty, so above everyone else with your code of ethics and your shiny Auror badge. Out here, in the real world, power makes the world turn, and I have it in excess. You just have your shiny badge." Then Draco chuckled. "Are you jealous that you didn't get a shiny Prefect or Head badge? Even I got one of those."

Harry glared at him. "Power, is it? Is that what you call it? Preying on defenseless Muggles and killing for sport? I call that evil, Malfoy, pure evil and that is all you have ever been and that is all you will ever be."

Draco's eyes flashed dangerously, and Harry was forced to remember that this wasn't the boy who'd teased him and sent relatively harmless hexes his way when they passed in the corridors. This was Voldemort's right-hand Death Eater. He could probably kill Harry right now if he wanted. Harry swallowed hard. But the flash of anger passed, and Harry felt more sure of himself.

Draco sat up and looked Harry in the eye. "I'll give you Voldemort." Hermione gasped, and Harry's eyes widened. Draco leaned back in his chair once more and continued, nonchalantly. "And the whole of his organization and operation. Minus myself, of course. That is, unless you want to continue to argue about who's better at what subject and who caught the Snitch more, or why your head is shaped so ugly."

"School-boy tricks and baiting won't work anymore, Malfoy. You're going to have to do better than that."

"I know. Which is why I brought this." A sheet of parchment materialized on Harry's desk.

Harry gasped. "They should have taken your wand!"

"They did," said Draco confidently.

"Then how did you do that?" Harry asked, bewildered.

Draco continued watching Harry with a self-important, knowing smirk. "Look at it, Potter, I know you're dying to."

Harry picked up the parchment. It was a list of names. He scanned the list, but when he got to the C names, they started to disappear. "Hey!" he said, looking up at Draco.

"Just a little sampling of what I have to offer."

"What do you want?"

"To get out, I told you that."

"Why?"

"My reasons, Potter. We're starting to run in circles now, aren't we? You've asked these questions, and I've answered them. Shall we begin to discuss terms?"

"I'm not very inclined to continue this discussion at all, as you refuse to give me any information about your purpose."

Draco exhaled sharply. He was frustrated, but didn't want to show it. Harry was his only chance, and he had to get him to listen. But he had to do it in a way that Harry would believe. "What I want, Potter, is to leave here, today, with an agreement, to one day leave England and never return."

Harry scoffed. "It's doubtful you'll escape Azkaban."

"Oh, I certainly don't intend to spend any time there," said Draco, leaning back in the chair again with his arms behind his back. "Remember my island? I'll name it after myself, of course. Can you picture it? Pristine white beaches, sparkling blue horizon. A true tropical paradise, and all for myself."

"Malfoy, why should I believe you? How am I to know this isn't some trick?"

"You don't have to believe me, and there's no way for you to be certain," said Draco, eyes laughing. "I can always walk out of here, you know. This offer only comes once. Once I'm gone, I'm gone, and this opportunity with it."

"You can't leave," said Harry trying to sound sure of himself.

"Yes, I can. According to Ministry rules. If we do not come to an accord, I have the right to retract my offer, namely myself."

Harry thought for a moment. "I will want to know where your island is."

Draco laughed. "Sure. I'll leave a hammock strung between two palm trees for when you come to visit. A double, if you bring the Mrs."

Harry tensed, staring at Malfoy, and Hermione seemed to come to life. She had been looking at Harry the entire time and she saw him tense. Her eyes widened, then she looked at Draco, then back at Harry.

"She doesn't know?" said Draco, laughing at Harry with his eyes. "Brilliant!"

"What do you want?" Harry snapped. "I'm in no mood for this."

"Geez, Potter, has sitting in this office addled your brain? I've already told you – I want out."

"Scot-free?"

"What?"

"Muggle saying," said Hermione, speaking for the first time since sitting down. "It means with no consequences."

"Well, obviously," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "I have a very hectic life ahead of me, taking care of my bird, sitting on the beach – "

"Yes, yes, your island. I know already." Harry turned to look at Hermione, only remembering she was there when she spoke. "Hermione, I'm sorry you've wasted your time. You may go."

She nodded, grateful to get away from the oppressive feeling in her chest from being so close to Malfoy. She was about to turn the doorknob when Draco addressed her.

"Granger, please tell me you're not Potter's secretary," he said with disgust.

Hermione bristled. "For your information, I am an Auror."

Draco scoffed. "Never pegged you an Auror, Granger. I'm disappointed."

She tried to remind herself that Harry would fix everything after she left, that he would take care of the evil little pig sitting in his office. "Well, Malfoy, you turned out to be a weak, evil, spineless automaton, unable to think or act for yourself. Which is exactly how I pegged _you_." Before he could say something smart in return, she wrenched the door open and hurried out, slamming the door behind her.

Draco chuckled to himself.

Harry scowled at the man in front of him. "You killed her parents, Malfoy."

"I am aware," he said smoothly, no trace of emotion on his face.

"Don't you care? At all?" said Harry, angrily.

"Why should I?"

"Don't you feel bad at all? Ever?"

Draco waved dismissively. "Oh, sure. It's that pesky little thing that I've been told is called a conscience. It's no problem, really; you just have to beat it down a bit, and then it goes away."

"But – you _know _her. I know you hate her, but her parents could not have been nameless faces that night you went to their house."

"I've killed countless wizards, witches and Muggles. Why would they in particular matter to me?"

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "It's Azkaban for you, Malfoy." Harry sat down and reached into his drawer to retrieve the Walk-In Negotiation and Agreement Forms in order to proclaim his sentence on the foul creature that was dirtying his office space. But as he bent to write, he happened to look up at Malfoy.

Draco had gone deathly white; his hands shook as he ran them through his hair. All the confidence, and all the arrogance he had displayed were gone as if they'd never been there at all. In their place was a terrified ghost, who looked as though he'd just been given the Dementor's Kiss.

"You're scared," observed Harry casually.

"Bloody right."

Harry put down the quill and looked more closely at Draco. "Tell me the truth, Malfoy. Why are you here? What are you scared of?"

Draco couldn't tell Harry that he was scared that Harry would say no. All his work, his efforts, his planning, could come to nothing on a single word from the Auror. And tied to all his work was Draco's plan for himself, and Harry's judgment against him now would seal his fate.

"I promise, whatever you tell me will stay between us. As part of this agreement." Draco still didn't speak. He looked at Harry, and Harry noticed his blood-shot eyes and saw how utterly exhausted he looked, so different from the man who'd strutted into his office acting like the king of the world. Harry sighed and paged Hermione to his office.

She came to the door after a minute, worried; she knew Draco hadn't left yet. "Yes, Harry?" she said, only poking her head in.

"Come in, please. Shut the door behind you." Hermione obeyed reluctantly. She glanced at Draco, whose shoulders were slumped with his head in his hands as in defeat. For a fleeting moment, pity flashed through her mind, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Then she felt proud, proud of Harry for breaking him.

"Hermione, I need you to be our Bonder." She gasped. Draco's head shot up to looked at Harry and Hermione saw the face that matched the dejected body she saw when she entered the room. A completely different person was sitting where she had left the arrogant Death Eater.

"Harry, no, don't do this," she pleaded. Entering into an Unbreakable Vow with Draco Malfoy could not end well.

Draco felt hope shooting through him as he looked into Harry's eyes.

"It's okay, Hermione. Trust me."

"I do trust _you_," she said, looking at Draco and telling Harry that it was he whom she didn't trust.

"Hermione, I need you to do this."

"Why me?" she whispered.

"Because you're the only one who knows he's here, and the fewer people involved the better, I think," he said, looking to Draco, who nodded.

"Surely, other people saw him walk in here," she protested.

Harry looked at her imploringly. "Hermione, please. I need _you _to do this."

Against her better judgment, against all the screaming cells in her body, she sighed and said, "Okay. But I officially think this is a bad idea."

Harry exhaled in relief. "Noted," he said. He and Draco clasped right hands, though hesitantly, as if both were afraid the disease carried by the other would spread. Hermione placed her wand on their joined hands and muttered, "_Infragilis Votum._"

"I, Harry Potter, will not repeat anything spoken between you, Draco Malfoy, and myself over the course of the next hour." The first tongue of flame encircled their hands. "It will stay between us, unless you wish to divulge it." The second flame joined the first. "And only you may remove the Vow at any time." The third tongue met the other two, forming the fiery serpent.

"_Opus_," said Hermione, to seal the Vow. The snake flashed brilliantly for an instant, then disappeared.

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**A/N: Any and all reviews welcome! Thanks for reading:)**


	3. Do Not Pass Go

**Disclaminer: **I don't own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy. They belong to JKR.

** ooo**

**Chapter 3 – Do Not Pass Go**

The men released their grip, eager to part contact. Draco felt like he could breathe for the first time in a long time. Harry was going to listen to him.

"Thank you, Hermione," said Harry. "You may go."

"But, how will I know if you break your Vow?"

"The spell will know."

She wanted to stay. Obviously something big was about to happen. But Draco was glaring daggers at her, so she glared back at him and left the room for the second time that day.

An hour later, Hermione watched as Harry led Malfoy out of his office. The customary smirk and confident strut were back; the other man she had seen in Harry's office, the ghost, was gone. Though the Aurors were returned from lunch, most of them were in a meeting and only a few were able to catch a glimpse of Harry leading Draco Malfoy through the office, wand pointed at his back. Harry caught Hermione's eye and indicated he wanted her to follow them.

She scrambled out of her desk and walked quickly out into the hallway where she had to run to catch up to them. Neither Harry nor Draco said a word, and she noticed Harry had put his wand away. Harry led them to the lift, which they rode down to the lowest level, below even the old courtrooms where Harry had once been tried. When they stepped into the dank, damp hallway, they were alone.

"Hermione, Malfoy is going to spend some time in Azkaban. I need you to take him there and get him checked in."

"Me?" she asked, unnerved by the idea of walking the long journey full of underground corridors with the Death Eater for company. Draco gave her an evil smirk, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

"Yes, Hermione. I have to see Moody, and take care of some things. It is important that this be handled as quickly and quietly as possible."

"Okay," she said nervously, anxious to learn what had happened between the two enemies.

Harry handed her a piece of parchment. "Give this to the guards. It contains my instructions. I'm also going to ask you to go to Azkaban a few times to take statements from him. Don't worry," Harry added when he saw the look on Hermione's face, "He can't do anything to you. As part of the agreement, and because I've cast as many spells on him as I could remember to keep him from touching you."

"Not that I'd want to," Draco muttered under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear.

Hermione took deep breaths to try and steady her racing heart. She could only nod.

Harry took her shoulders in his hands and looked into her eyes. "Thank you, Hermione, I mean it. I know this is hard. It will be over soon," he said, too quietly for Draco to hear. She nodded again, setting a determined look on her face. Harry left them in the hallway.

Hermione watched him go. When she couldn't hear the hum of the elevator anymore, she turned around and started down the long corridor to the Azkaban Apparation point. "Come on, ferret," she said. She heard him start to follow her, but slowly. "Keep up, or I'll hex you."

They walked in silence for 15 minutes. Draco was starting to get anxious about the dark, enclosed space when he saw a light. They entered a small room, barely big enough for the two of them. She faced him and he smirked at how uncomfortable she looked.

"Don't say a word or I'll touch you," she threatened Part of him wanted to laugh, but she looked so angry he figured she really thought it would bother him. He rolled his eyes and looked away.

"Uh, hello there, Ms. Granger, where you headed?" came a chuckling voice from nowhere. Then a white head of hair popped into view through a window behind Draco's head, attached to a short, wiry wizard with a look in his eyes that said he'd been left in the dark a little too long. He was sitting in what looked like a control room, but there was only one big green button.

"Where do you think?" she snapped, not for a moment enjoying the humor he found in his question when there was only one place this one-stop point would deposit them.

"Yes, that'll be Azkaban then. Hold on tight!" He gave her a crazy grin and gleefully pressed the button.

After the uncomfortable sensation that accompanies Apparating, they arrived in a similar room to the one they had left. Hermione led Draco out into another corridor. They walked for 20 minutes in agonizing silence before arriving at the end of the tunnel, which intersected with a track. A car appeared in front of them and they got on. A small wizard with white eyes sat in the car. "Where to?" he asked.

These people have a sick sense of humor, thought Hermione. But then, they did escort the condemned to a place of utter horror, so it might be assumed they went a little skewed in the head. "Diagon Alley; where do you think?" she snapped. The wizard chuckled and shook his head. The cart began to move, slowly at first, then at a ridiculous speed. Draco thought he'd be sick from the constant jostling.

When they reached a relatively smooth part of the ride, Draco looked at Hermione, who was looking everywhere but at him. "Are you scared of me, Granger?"

She turned to look him up and down. He was certainly intimidating, with the nasty look on his face that was his constant companion, and the way he carried himself that just radiated power and superiority. But she knew better. "Not in the slightest," she said dismissively, and turned to stare at the wall again.

"Why not? You really should be," he said casually, leaning back against the edge of the cart, baiting her with his words.

"Because I can see through your little act, the one you've been keeping up as long as I've known you. I know that deep down you're just a scared little boy whose daddy never told him he loved him."

Draco's mask of indifference fell instantly, replaced with pure fury. He leaned as close as he could get to Hermione without actually touching her; she could feel his breath on her face and see the angry glint in his eyes. "Don't you ever speak to me of my father, do you hear me?" He hissed through clenched teeth. "If you do, I will see to it that you never speak again. You know nothing of what you say, and if you know what's good for you, you'll shut up."

Hermione recoiled at his harsh words, but she refused to break from his gaze. She held it until he looked away to resume his pastime of wall-watching. Then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Okay, she thought, so maybe there was a little part of her that was scared of him.

A few minutes passed in silence. Then Draco spoke again, lightly, as if the outburst about his father had never happened.

"I bet you're wondering what Potter and I talked about."

"Can't handle silence, Malfoy?" she quipped.

He shrugged. "Whatever.

More silence.

"Too bad Potter can't tell you," he drawled. "Of course, I could tell you, you know. All you'd have to do is – "

"Spare me, Malfoy. I really would rather not know."

"As you wish," he said.

Hermione looked toward the wall, her mouth firmly set, refusing to be baited. They rode the rest of the way in silence. She spent the time thinking about that which he wanted to get her to beg him for – what he and Harry had discussed. She distinctly remembered hearing Malfoy say he had no intention of spending time in prison, yet here he was, being carted off, literally. Her curiosity was so great that she thought she might burst. But just wait, she told herself, Harry will give you details later. Or would he? There was that Vow he'd taken, maybe he wouldn't be able to tell her anything. Malfoy was the only conduit to the information she wanted. But her pride was stronger than her curiosity and Hermione resigned herself to possibly never knowing. She comforted herself with knowing that Harry was in control of the situation, whatever it was.

As they neared their destination, the ride became more uncomfortable. When they stepped off the cart, Draco had to steady his lunch before he could go on.

"Couldn't we have just Apparated?" he asked crossly

"Sorry, that just wouldn't make good sense would it? Allowing Apparation into a prison. Really Malfoy, even I thought you were smarter than that."

He scowled but said nothing. He didn't bother to point out that he of course knew one couldn't Apparate into the prison. He had simply been complaining about all the work required to get there.

Hermione and Draco walked down another corridor and finally into a small square room where two guards sat reading the Prophet.

"What's this?" Draco asked.

"Security," Hermione replied, handing the guards the papers Harry had sent with her. She looked around the room and saw the privacy curtain and was suddenly quite happy that she was the one bringing him here. She looked at Draco with such an odd expression of elation it reminded him of what he imagined the Cheshire Cat would look like. He shuddered. Then Hermione spoke.

"Strip." Malfoy went white – well, whiter – and his eyes got wide. She cast him a smirk to rival his own. "Behind the screen, of course," she said as innocently and deathly sweet as she could. He glared at her and went behind the curtain. "And put these on." She handed him the typical prison garb – grey pants and top. He emerged after a few minutes.

"My, how the mighty have fallen," she quipped, smiling.

"I'm so glad you're enjoying this," he said, handing her his clothes and cloak.

"Oh, I am. Immensely," she said. She gave his clothes to the guard, but held onto the cloak. "Wow, this is a really nice cloak, Malfoy. It's so soft, and made of such fine material." She made a fuss over touching the material and examining its quality. "I think I'll keep it. My cat needs a new scratching post."

She smiled as he glared daggers at her. "That cloak is worth more money than you've ever seen."

She appeared to think hard about something. "Hmm… then maybe I'll keep it for myself. You don't mind, do you? Having a Mudblood touch it? You can have it back once you're out, of course. But, now that I think about it, I'm not sure you'll be able to get it clean enough."

He continued to glare at her. "Just remember, Granger, I won't be in here for very long, and I will see you very, very soon." He smirked as her smile faded just a little.

"True," she said, trying to sound undaunted. "We will see each other soon. But I'll be on one side of the glass, and you'll be on the other." She gave him a smug look then turned to speak with the guards. The head guard signed the transfer papers and returned them to Hermione.

"We've got him from here," he said, nodding to her politely.

"Thank you. Feel free to knock him around a bit," she said cheerily as she headed for the door to return to the Ministry.

The guard frowned. "Sorry, Miss Granger, but we've been given strict directions to ensure he remains unharmed. Physically, at least."

Draco now returned the smug look and winked. "Later, Granger."

The guards led Draco Malfoy, most wanted man in the Wizarding world into Azkaban.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Hermione's knees buckled and she sank to the floor, shaking. She took several deep breaths before she felt confident to stand again, and then took a few more just to be safe. When she felt ready to get up, she did, collecting the parchments Harry had sent with Malfoy. Then she made her way back to the Ministry, lost in thought the entire trip.

Her mind swirled at the impact of seeing Malfoy after so many years. The last time she'd seen his face was the night Dumbledore had been killed. Well, in truth, she'd seen his face on countless wanted posters, but they were all pictures of that 16 year-old boy. Today she saw the man he'd turned into, and there was surprisingly little change. She cursed him for the good genes that gave him flawless skin and perfect hair. But she had seen some change, mainly in the lines of his face. They were harder and sharper, with more edge to them. She wished she had looked into his eyes to study what she found there, but she would have had to stare intently at him while he allowed her to do so, and she highly doubted he would eagerly oblige.

With a frown, Hermione went through the events of the day as she made her way back to the Ministry. Nothing made sense to her, and she was so emotionally frazzled that she decided to let her mind doze for the rest of the walk. After 30 minutes, she found herself in the last tunnel leading into the Ministry. She called the lift and rode it to Level two where she went directly to Harry's office and plopped herself in a chair.

"Hey," he asked kindly, "How did it go? Did he give you any trouble?"

"Not really, just the usual 'holier than thou' act. Nothing I couldn't handle. Got him back, too in the security office, and I kept his cloak." She lifted it for Harry to see.

"Looks nice," he said.

"Yeah. Don't know what I'm going to do with it, I just did it to get a rise out of him."

"Did it work?"

"Yeah," she said, grinning tiredly.

"Good."

Hermione then handed Harry Draco's paperwork. "Everything's in order, Harry. Although I don't understand why you forbade the guards from messing with him. Seems perfectly harmless to me."

Harry chuckled. "I need him at his best is all I can say."

Hermione leaned onto Harry's desk. "Harry, what can you tell me about what happened today?"

Harry looked at his friend. "Not much. We made an agreement, per Ministry policy, with terms and everything. Moody signed it. The rest will have to come to you as Malfoy wants it to."

"Why would he want to tell me anything? What could he have said that would in any way affect me?"

Harry shrugged, looking at her from the corner of his eyes. "He'll tell you if he wants to, though I don't think he'll be too eager at this point. He'll have a few opportunities to talk about what was said under the Vow, since you have to go see him now and then."

She groaned. "Oh, must I, Harry? Can't someone else go?"

"No, I'm sorry. Not possible. I really, really appreciate this Hermione, and I owe you big time, all right? Just name it, I'll do it for you."

She eyed him skeptically, then smiled. "Okay, Harry, but I will cash in for that favor."

"Anytime," he said warmly. Then he sighed. "I'm beat. It's been – an unbelievable day. If someone had told me Draco Malfoy would walk into my office today I would have sent them to St. Mungo's for a head check."

"I know. So has anyone talked about it at all?"

"Well, a few of them came to ask what was going on, but I told them as little as possible with the assurance everything was fine and it was all good Ministry business."

"When do I have to go back?" she asked.

"How about tomorrow?" he said, ducking to avoid whatever he expected her to throw at him.

"Tomorrow? But I've so much work to do with my other assignments, Harry. How can I fit it in?"

"Consider this your primary assignment from now on. When you're to work on something else, I'll let you know. For now, Malfoy is the biggest thing we've got."

She nodded. "Okay, Harry. Since you say I must."

"Thank you, really. Now, go home, and have a pleasant evening."

"You too; see you tomorrow, Harry."

He waved to her as she left his office, then sat down and pulled out the Walk-In Agreement he'd made with Malfoy. He read through it one more time to help convince himself that it was real, then he charmed it to be readable by him alone and put it in a white envelope which he sealed so only he, and in dire need Hermione, could open it. He knew she'd be able to break the charm on the agreement rendering him the only permissible viewer. Then he tucked the envelope into his robes and headed home himself.

**ooo**

**A/N: Please R&R! It just makes my day to see that little number go up:)**


	4. Through the Looking Class

**Disclaminer: **I do not own Harry Potter or the characters in this story.

**Note: **Title of the chapter from a couple of books by Lewis Carroll.**  
**

**ooo **

**Chapter 4 – Through the Looking Glass**

The next day, Hermione went to Azkaban first thing so she could get it over with and attempt to salvage some kind of good day. Harry told her nothing about what to ask, and said that Malfoy would know what to do.

When Hermione arrived and asked to see him, she was led into a small room. It was divided in half by a thick glass wall, one half for the prisoner, the other for the visitor. The visitor's side had a few semi-comfortable chairs, but the prisoner's only a hard metal one.

Draco was already sitting in his half of the room, arms folded across his chest, frowning slightly. He looked up when Hermione entered and his eyes narrowed when he noticed she was wearing his cloak.

Hermione caught his look and smiled sardonically at him. She made a great show of removing the cloak and absently tossing it onto the back of one of the chair, making sure to let part of it touch the floor. Then she sat in the other chair and looked at him.

"See?" she said, "Glass. You," she pointed. "Me. Your door leads back to your cell, my door leads to freedom." She cocked her head to the side a bit and regarded him. "How did you sleep? I was snuggled in my warm, comfy bed with soft sheets and pillow." Draco only looked at her with mild interest. "How's the food? Let's see, last night I ate roast chicken with a cream sauce over couscous and asparagus on the side. And for breakfast, I had oatmeal with toast and orange juice." Still he said nothing, but she could see his façade begin to weaken, if only ever so slightly.

"And I took a great, long, hot shower this morning. I must have stood there for 10 minutes doing nothing but letting the warm water soothe my muscles." Draco pursed his lips, but otherwise made no indication he was listening. Of course, he had no choice but to hear what she said. "What else did I do last night? Well, if you must know, I had dessert – ice cream, my favorite. And I curled up in front of my telly – that's a Muggle box that shows moving pictures with sounds – and watched my favorite movie of all time."

Draco looked at her now and blinked. Something in his expression seemed to soften, but when he spoke the words were hard as ice. "Shut up, will you? In case you didn't notice, I don't really care what you do with your time, and I certainly don't care that your night was better than mine. I wasn't really expecting to have a bang-up time in here, so stop parading around like a puffed up peacock and get over yourself. You are here to do a job, so do it. Quit trying to engage me in a battle of wits, because, quite frankly, you'd be in way over your head."

She glared at him. "Battle of wits? With you?" She scoffed. "In order to enter into such an engagement, both parties would need to begin with at least a comparable level of intelligence to make the contest worth entering in the first place. And since you have no wit, there would be no point, would there?"

Draco could tolerate many things from her, especially since this was his idea, his plan, and she was crucial to its success. He knew he would have to be patient and not let her or Harry get under his skin. Any jokes they made about blood would be easily handled, as he knew where he stood on the issue. They did not, however, which would certainly make for an interesting go, if the occasion should arise. The names they would call him would roll off him like water over a duck's feathers; her jibes and pokes and stabs would be absorbed in order to see this through to the end. Because nothing would keep him from that end; nothing was more important.

But calling him unintelligent was something else entirely. It wasn't just a barb or a jab, because he was smart, and he knew it. He stood up calmly, always in control of himself, save perhaps when his father was mentioned, and approached the glass. "You think you're so smart, do you? Just because you were top of your class, and teacher's pet? Well, tell me, Granger, does anyone really care about all that? Honestly, how many people have stepped out of your way in the hallways at work and looked at you with awe-filled eyes because you were Head Girl?" He spat the last two words as though they left a bitter taste in his mouth. "That means nothing out in the world, does it? What did all that benefit you? You're an Auror, just a bloody Auror." He looked at her with a disgusted look on his face. "As much as I could not have cared less what became of you, you still disappoint me." He glared at her for a second more, then returned to the chair and resumed his former position.

Hermione was hurt by his words, more deeply than she could have imagined. Becoming an Auror was not her life's ambition, nor was it even something she had considered until it became glaringly real that Voldemort wasn't going away. She had followed Ron and Harry into the expedited training offered by the Ministry because she would not be parted from the two young men, having sworn to herself and to Harry that the three of them would be together through it all.

She fought against the tears of frustration that threatened to show themselves in the corners of her eyes. Of course she didn't care that she had disappointed him, but what he said hit a nerve in her that was too raw to take such abuse without causing pain. She couldn't look at him for fear the tears would win their battle.

"Write," said Draco firmly. "Aberdeen, Scott; Adderly, Mark – "

"Wait, what are you doing?"

"Giving you the information you came for. Agg, Wilton – "

"Hold on," said Hermione, scrounging in her bag for parchment, a quill and an ink bottle. When she found them, she conjured a table and began to copy down the names he'd given her already.

Draco watched her with slight amusement, then picked up where he left off when she appeared ready for him to continue. "Andrews, Derrick …"

For two solid hours, Hermione did nothing but write, and Draco did nothing but give a list of surnames followed by given names. No matter how tired Hermione's hand got, she refused to stop writing or ask for a break.

"Zabini, Blaise; Zabini, Stephano; Malfoy, Draco." Hermione waited for him to continue, but when no further names were provided, she looked at him. He was simply watching her. "I'm out of order, of course."

Hermione looked at the list of names. There must have been hundreds, and she had been beyond astonished when it had occurred to her that Draco was giving her the names in alphabetical order. It was around "Crabbe, Gregory," when it dawned on her. How was he able to do that? She looked at him now, searching for a clue as to the methods by which he stored the information. Nothing jumped out at her; he was wearing the grey prison garb, sitting casually in a chair. There was nothing in his hands, nothing that she could see. It wasn't possible that he had memorized all those names, in alphabetical order – was it?

"I'll get the list to Harry," she said, putting her supplies back into her bag. Then she stretched in her seat and stood to leave.

"Granger," said Draco, making it clear through his tone that he was loathe to speak with her.

Hermione merely looked at him in response.

"Is it – sunny – today? Or rainy?"

His question was unexpected. Why would he be asking about the weather? What in the world did he care? Then she looked around the room they were in, and thought of all she'd seen of the prison since entering it yesterday. She recalled no windows.

"Raining," she lied. Then she picked up his cloak and wrapped it around her with a dramatic flourish and quit the room. She informed the guard outside the door that they were finished, and returned slowly to the Ministry.

She went straight for Harry's office, but Seamus Finnigan, who worked in the Department of Magical Transport, stopped her and complimented her cloak. She forced a smile and a polite thank you, and inwardly groaned. Of course Malfoy's cloak would be the nicest thing anyone was wearing in the office, since it likely cost enough to equal their salary for a whole month.

When she entered Harry's office, she smiled tiredly but warmly. "Afternoon, Harry," she said.

"Hey, how did it go? Any trouble?"

"No; Here," she said, handing him the list from Malfoy.

Harry's eyes widened as he scanned the pages, obviously impressed by so many names. "What did he say?" he asked.

"Nothing important. He listed these names, we traded barbs. Oh, and he asked if it was sunny or rainy outside."

Harry gave her a questioning look, to which she could only shrug.

"Thanks, Hermione. I hate to spring this on you so soon, but I need you to go back tomorrow. I need more information than just these names."

She sat down hard. It took all of her strength to get through just two hours with Malfoy that day, and the thought of going back so soon was daunting. "Why me? Why him?", she moaned softly, resting her head in her hands. She again fought back the frustrated tears she felt. The previous night had been hard on her. Her parents' killer had simply swaggered into the place she worked, demanding he be given freedom. Sure, he promised to hand them their greatest enemy, but he'd done it in such a – _Malfoy_ way. She'd had that awful dream again, about the night she found her parents murdered in her home. She had that dream for months after they were killed, only this time, in the dream, _he_ was waiting for _her_ too. That was completely new. And she woke up from a sound sleep, now wide awake, in the early morning hours. She couldn't go back to sleep. In truth, she'd lied to Malfoy twice, about the weather and her good night's sleep.

"Just a minute," Harry said, and he put a silencing charm on his office, then another, and finally a ward that would make anyone who approached the office suddenly remember an important memo on their desk that needed answering. Then he whispered, paranoid despite his precautions, "It's because No one knows he came here."

Hermione whispered back, feeling a little silly at having to actually say aloud, "Harry, lots of people saw him come in."

"They've been Obliviated. This is huge, Hermione. Only you and I know, plus Moody. I was able to convince him I needed you to help me with this case." She was stunned. The Ministry Obliviated its own Aurors? Okay, sure, Malfoy was _big, _almost as big as Voldemort, but was he really big enough that _no one _could know about him?

"Seriously?" she asked weakly. "Harry – what's all this about? I mean, he just struts in here, and now Aurors are being Obliviated? Why?"

"This could be huge, Hermione. The information he has promised to provide could be pivotal in this war. It should help us bring down the entire network of Death Eaters. We don't want just anyone knowing about this, or about him. If the other Death Eaters find out, we could be attacked or worse in an attempt to get him back."

"I still don't really understand the need for all this secrecy."

Harry sighed. "Honestly, I can't tell you right now. You just have to trust me, okay? You will find out soon enough."

She smiled weakly. "You know I trust you, Harry. It was incredibly hard to look at him today, to sit there, knowing everything he's done, and have _him _dictate to _me_. He was so sure of himself the entire time. It felt like I was the one in prison, and he was the one free."

"He does have a way of doing that. And I know this is going to be hard for you, Hermione, believe me, I know that. I wouldn't ask, though, if I didn't think you were up to the task. Just remember, he really is the one in prison. His side of the glass leads to his cell, your side leads to the sun."

Hermione nodded and sighed heavily. "I can do this, Harry." She stood up and hugged him.

"I'm here for you, anytime, you know that," he said, holding her.

"I know. Thank you. See you," she said, pulling out of the hug. Then she headed toward her desk where she tried to get through a seemingly normal day at work.

**ooo**

The next morning, Hermione grudgingly made her way back to Azkaban to visit Malfoy. She again wore his cloak to anger him, and when he entered the questioning room, she slung it haphazardly onto the back of her chair, letting it drag on the floor. She noticed that he winced when she allowed one leg of her chair to sit on part of the material.

She sat down and stared at him. He looked the same as the day before. It seemed that his stay in prison wasn't as unpleasant as she hoped it would be. Of course, he could be putting on a gigantic show for her.

"Well, you're to do some more ratting today," she said, trying to be as annoyingly cheerful as possible. She figured he wasn't a morning person, and while she wasn't either, he didn't know that. Morning people were some of the most annoying creatures on the planet.

As it turned out, he was not interested in idle banter that day. He started right in on a brand new list of information.

"Aberdeen, Scott. Age: 34. Occupation: Private business. Residence: 33 Ducking Square, Surrey. Does business at Gringotts, Flemings and Brewtons. Personal worth: 50,000 galleons. Family: wife, two children, ages 5 and 7, both wizards, plan to attend Durmstrang. Adderly, Mark…" Draco continued in this vein for three hours, pausing only when Hermione grunted to indicate he was going too fast. He wouldn't say anything to indicate his impatience, but she could feel it, even through the glass, radiating from his eyes. He would watch her as she scribbled furiously, and then, when he decided she'd had enough time, he continued. Name after name, all Death Eaters, all crucial information that would be invaluable to the Ministry. Some he had more information on than others.

Finally, Hermione realized she was hungry. "Dawson, Frank – "

"Wait, stop," she said. "Are we going to go through every name you gave me yesterday?"

He blinked. "Yes."

"Well, that will take – ," she looked at her watch and saw with dismay that it was well past lunch. " – much longer than I can be here, I have work to do!"

He smirked. "Do you really think that your work there is more important than what I'm telling you?"

She groaned, knowing he was right. "I need a better quill."

"You could just charm the one you have to write for you," he said, sounding bored with her whining. "Brightest witch in our year," he muttered, shaking his head.

She glared at him. "Stay here," she snapped, and got up to write Harry telling him she'd be there all day.

Draco grunted; like he had a choice as to whether he stayed or not.

He wrote back immediately, telling her to take as long as she needed. Great, she thought, just what I wanted to hear.

By the end of the day, Hermione was exhausted, and they had only reached 'Jackson, George.' Draco said nothing to her except the information he relayed, until she had packed her things to go.

"You lied," he said. She turned to look at him. "It wasn't raining yesterday; I asked a guard this morning."

"So?"

"Why?"

"Why do you care what the weather is, anyway?"

"I just do. Why did you lie?"

"I don't know," she said honestly.

**ooo**

It took nearly three whole days to get all the information from him. At 5 o'clock on Friday, he finished with 'Zabini, Stephano.' She breathed a sigh of relief and stretched, yawning. Through all three days, Malfoy rarely talked except to tell her the names of his comrades. She had grown accustomed to this, and without knowing it, assumed it would continue.

"Does Granger ever sleep?" he asked as she was packing her things to go.

"Of course," she snapped, "What kind of question is that?"

"Just trying to make conversation. You look tired is all. So what's the weather today?" he asked, leaning back in his chair as if he were in a comfortable living room with a roaring fire going in front of him.

"Blizzard."

He gave her his nasty almost-a-smile look. "I've come to associate your weather reports with your moods. Did you have a rough night? Fight with a loved one? Potter, perhaps, or the Weasel?"

She said nothing. How could he sit there and be so bloody arrogant? He was in prison! Yet he acted as though it was exactly what he wanted to happen. In truth, she had had a rough night. Her dreams were growing more intense and they robbed her of peaceful sleep. Now her visions focused on him, in the other room, holding something, watching her.

"Go ahead, ask," he said. He could sense that she wanted to say something, but was too – what, afraid? Nervous? To ask it.

She looked at him warily, then said, "Why them?"

Ah yes, of course. He shrugged. "It was an order."

"And just like that – you would kill?"

"I followed a command. Nothing more."

"What good did it do your cause to kill my parents?"

"My master wished to announce to the world that he was taking the war in a new direction."

"So you just – killed them."

"Yes."

She felt her stomach wrench at how carelessly and effortlessly he told her he'd taken the lives of the people who loved her more than anything in the world. She refused to allow him to see her cry, but she couldn't hide her pain and confusion.

"Did you – torture them?" she wasn't even sure she wanted to know the answer.

Draco saw her tangled emotions, and the briefest twinge of doubt flashed across his mind. "No," he answered honestly. He saw her relax just a little bit, but then her frown deepened.

"Were you there when I returned home?"

A flash of panic coursed through him, but he quickly mastered himself. "No, why would you say that?"

"I just – I keep having this dream…"

He wanted her to go on, but it was obvious she had no intention of doing so.

"Were they scared?" she asked quietly.

"No, actually, they weren't."

"So you knew they were my parents."

"Yes."

She couldn't help it – she let a single tear fall. Draco saw it and again felt a flicker of doubt, this one lasting longer than the previous one.

"I hate you, Malfoy," she whispered, staring at him with hate in her eyes and heart. She hoped he would sit in this prison forever, and rot away until the bugs carried him off, piece by piece.

"You shouldn't hate, Hermione," he said quietly, meeting her gaze and holding it. "Hate does awful things to a person. Makes them do things they would never normally do. Turns them against what they believe in. It eats you up inside, slowly killing you and robbing you of anything pleasant, leaving you hollow, empty, unfulfilled, even when you've mastered the object of your hate. It doesn't satisfy, you only want that person back, so you can kill them again."

She looked at him, horrified at what he'd just said. He had opened up, just enough, to let her see part of his black soul, and she was terrified by what she saw. She couldn't look at him again, so she left without another word.

That night Hermione cried herself to sleep again, and in her dream, of her parents, she saw him again. This time in the dream, however, she watched herself find her parents' corpses, but she was outside the action. In all her other dreams she was herself, who found her parents after returning home to find the Dark Mark glowing in the sky above her house. And this time, since she could move around more and had more control of the dream, she noticed _he_ was in the room next to where her parents were found, holding a dagger and looking at her – the her that found her parents, not the one watching. She awoke from the dream drenched in sweat and the covers in a wad. She looked at the clock – only 2am. She went into the bathroom and got a sleeping draught from the cupboard. She took it and fell into a dreamless slumber.

**ooo**

Hermione returned to visit Malfoy at least once a week over the next three weeks. She hated each visit; he was becoming more and more moody, likely the effects of his stay in Azkaban. He would try to pick fights, but she refused to speak to him more than what was required to get the information Harry wanted.

After Draco had been in prison for 28 days, Harry gave Hermione a letter to give him.

When he saw her, he smirked because she was frowning. "Ah, must be, what – thunderstorms today?" he said in his arrogant, condescending tone.

"Oh, that reminds me. Here." She handed him a letter from Harry under the glass that separated them. He took it and read it, then frowned.

"I need a quill."

"You're not allowed one," she said.

"Well, how can I respond?"

"I can write it for you," she said.

He passed the letter back to her and she got out her quill, setting it to the paper. "Harry," he started. She dutifully wrote Harry's name, causing Draco to give a small smile. "Agreed." He spoke no more.

She looked up at him, quill perched and ready for more words. "That's it?" He nodded. She rolled her eyes. "I think I can remember that." She took the letter and put it in her bag. The parchment was blank, charmed so only the reader could see the words. She looked at it a second longer than called for.

"Curiosity," he said, "You're dying to know what the letter said, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not _dying _to know."

"Nonetheless, you want to. No, no, don't beg, really. I'll tell you. It said I'm about to get out of here."

Excuse me? "What? You? How could they honestly let you out? You've admitted to murder!"

"That's the only reason I'm in here at all, Granger," he said pleasantly. His mood had improved drastically after reading the letter. "Because I admitted to murder. This past month was the agreed upon time I would spend in payment for my crimes."

She scowled, angry that Harry would agree to such a short sentence. "Are you off to your island, then?" she asked bitterly.

"Something like that. Tell me, why did you become an Auror?"

She was surprised by the question. "It's what – it made sense. It was the best way I could think to help Harry."

"Is it what _you _wanted to do?"

"Well, no, but you don't always get what you want in life." She thought of her parents, and their dreams which would never be realized.

"You should get to. What about the Weasel? Haven't heard about him since I became reacquainted with you two."

"He was injured in a battle a few months ago. He's not working right now."

"Oh," said Draco, who honestly didn't know what had become of the red-haired boy.

She shook her head, wanting to get away from personal topics and focus on the task before her. "I'm here to get more information on Death Eater hideouts." She pulled out her notebook and quill, ready to write.

"I want to talk about you," he said, getting up and turning the chair around to rest his arms on the top of the back. "Chances are I won't see you again, and I thought we should get to know each other better."

"If I never see you again, it will be too soon," she said.

He put a hand over the place where his heart supposedly sat. "Oh, Granger, that stings!" he said, feigning injury. "Don't be so cruel! I will sorely miss these little meetings of ours. Tell you what; when I'm relaxing on my beach, listening to the waves crash, I'll think of you."

"I would really rather you didn't."

"You could visit with Harry, you know. I'll give you separate hammocks, if you want."

"I would rather drown myself than willingly see you again."

Hermione saw something like pain flash in his eyes. He hid it quickly. "And here I was going to give you your own island, with a little hut, all full of books you've never read."

"I want nothing from you."

"Yes, yes, you hate me, always will, I clearly understand." He stood up and came very close to the glass between them. "But Hermione, I'm afraid I lied to you," he said in a spooky, hollow voice. "I was there when you returned home that night; I was waiting for you."

She paled and felt weak; he could only be talking about what she had asked him weeks before. What she had seen in her dreams – could it be true?

"What – "

"You owe me your life. How does that feel?" He knocked on his door to let the guard know he was finished. "Oh, and Granger, have fun trying to figure that one out." He laughed and left the room.

Hermione was still shaking when she returned to the Ministry. She went to Harry's office and waited for him to return from a meeting. In the twenty minutes she waited, she felt better.

"Hermione?" he said when he saw her sitting there. "Are you finished already?"

She looked up at him with a start. It took her a moment to register what he'd asked her, then another moment to realize she'd been so completely flustered by what Malfoy had said that she left before she got a scrap of information. "Oh no, oh no," cried, putting her head in her hands. "Oh, Harry, I didn't get anything."

He frowned, "Why not? Was he uncooperative?"

"No; well a little. He changed the subject, and it was a subject that really bothered me, and it made me so upset that I left."

Harry felt for his friend. He knew that what he had asked of her was very hard for her to do considering the past she shared with Malfoy. And he hated having to say what he was about to say.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. But I have to ask you to go back, only it's the last time I have to ask, so that's why I'm still asking. Can you do that?" She nodded, but started crying. The thought of returning to see him was horrifying.

After a light lunch, she slowly made the trek back to Azkaban. When she asked to see Malfoy, the guard told her that he'd left some pieces of parchment for her, and Malfoy had said if they weren't satisfactory, that she could see him. Hermione looked at the pages – pages and pages of hideouts, information on the Death Eaters and their inner workings. It was more than satisfactory, but something completely different was gnawing on her.

"I wish to see him," she said, trying to convince herself it was true. The way they left things before… surely he'd hate being summoned again. She waited in the little room with the chairs and glass between. He entered, looking ragged, not at all like she'd just left him an hour before.

He sat down wearily, as if it took every ounce of strength. He didn't look at her, just stared at his hands resting on his knees.

"Why?" she asked, knowing there was no way he could know what she referred to.

"Why, what, Granger?" he asked, looking up.

The difference in him was remarkable; no sneer, no confident glint in his eyes. Just a broken soul returned Hermione's penetrating glare.

"Why didn't you kill me? You were going to, I saw you."

He recoiled. "You – what?"

"In my dream. I saw you, in the room next to where I found my parents." His silence and the look on his face told him she was right. "You held a dagger. Why didn't you do it?"

He could do nothing but stare at her. Finally, he put his head in his hands, and muttered, "I don't know."

She sat down across from him and crossed her arms. "Not good enough." She tapped her foot rhythmically to remind him she was not going anywhere. Slowly he sat up and faced her.

"I was supposed to, but when I saw you – something stopped me. I don't know what, honestly. I just couldn't do it." He sighed. "I was to kill your parents our way, then kill you the Muggle way. I couldn't."

She regarded him curiously. "Did you get in trouble for not doing it?"

He laughed without mirth. "Oh, of course. He was quite angry with me and it took awhile to convince him I was still loyal."

"Why don't you know?" she was highly frustrated at not getting the answer she wanted, or at the very least some kind of answer.

"I've told you," he said, sitting back and running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I meant to, I did, but there was something about seeing you find them. It just took it out of me. I left after the Order removed you from the house."

She couldn't believe that was all there was. But he seemed insistent that it was so. She decided to let it go, since she was certain he would tell her nothing. She looked at him through the glass. He looked a lot like that ghost she'd seen a month before. Not completely, but there were shades of that person.

"What happened to the man I saw in Harry's office?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. "You're going off down a road without me again. Please elaborate."

"When Harry called me in to witness the Vow. There was someone very different sitting across from his desk."

Draco looked into her eyes, and said simply, "Behind the veil."

"I'm sorry, is that supposed to mean something to me?"

He looked away, and his eyes were focused on something that wasn't in the room when he spoke. "I care for nothing, all shall go. Thou makest thine appeal to me; I bring to life, I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more. O life as futile, then, as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless, What hope of answer, or redress! Behind the veil, behind the veil."

She was moved by his words, and didn't know what to say. The prose was haunting and mysterious, and she realized he had again opened himself up to her just a little, giving her a glimpse of his troubled soul. And he seemed so small, so vulnerable, sitting in that metal chair, looking for all the world like a little boy. Not at all like the Draco Malfoy she knew.

"Tennyson," he said.

"What does it mean?" she asked, anxious to know the meaning.

"Well, for me, it means – me. You saw me." He looked into her eyes, and really looked, for the first time in his life. And he let her explore, showing her the emotions in himself that she would expect to find: despair, anger, hate, rage, and pain. He still hid from her the others: loneliness, regret, remorse, self-loathing.

She was again rendered speechless. She tried hard to think of something to say, and she said the first thing that came to mind. Unfortunately, instead of something profound, or comforting, or sensible, the first thought that came to her mind was, "You know a Muggle poet?" She mentally slapped herself.

He gave her half a smile. "Don't you need to get back?"

"Oh, uhm, yes. Thank you for the information, it will be most helpful."

"So, when you called me back in here, it wasn't because you actually wanted to talk about the information I gave you, was it." He stated it more than asked.

"No," she admitted.

"Okay. Good luck, Granger. I hope you find what you're looking for."

She frowned. "But, I'm not looking for anything."

He shrugged. "You will be." He knocked on the door. "Have a nice life," he said when the guard opened the door for him to exit.

Hermione tried to shake the feeling that had come over her since he walked into the room for the second time that day. He was almost that person from Harry's office, the one she could almost feel something other than hate for. As Hermione neared the guard station, she remembered she would not be returning to collect information from Malfoy anymore. She stopped in her tracks, thinking about the cloak in her bag. She could return it, after all it did belong to him, or she could keep it.

She knew she shouldn't keep it. He would be leaving prison soon, if what he'd told her was true, and would actually need the cloak. And maybe it was seeing a glimpse of that other man, who looked a lot like a pale, blond, Death Eater, that told her just maybe he might get cold. Plus, it was Malfoy's, and she wanted to give him no reason to seek her out in the future. She left it with the guards to put with his other belongings. Then she sighed and again walked the path from Azkaban to the Apparation point that would take her back to the Ministry.

**ooo**

**A/N: Please write a little hello to let me know you're there! **


	5. House On a Hill

**Disclaimer: **Please don't sue me, I make no claims of ownership of these characters. They belong and always will to JKR.

**ooo****  
**

**Chapter 5 – House on a Hill**

When Hermione returned to the Ministry, she gave the information from Draco to Harry and walked wordlessly back to her desk. There was only about an hour left before it would be time to leave, and she spent the time staring absently at the calendar on her desk, or looking at the paperweight of a giant turtle that sat on her desk, or twirling a Muggle pencil in her hair while biting her lip and frowning.

This was how Harry found her, sitting at her desk, staring at a memo, reading it over and over, still trying to focus on it. She finally gave up and put it down when he approached.

"Hey," he said, smiling.

"Hi," she returned, forcing a smile.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Rough day with Malfoy."

"I'm sorry, I really am. But thank you, Hermione. You don't have to go back to Azkaban to see him ever again." Harry gave her a pointed look. "Say, do you want to, maybe, get a bite to eat before you head home? It looks like you could use some company."

She wanted to say no, to go home with a pint of ice cream in her hand and watch a sappy movie, but a tiny voice in the back of her mind begged her not to go home to an empty flat just yet. "Okay, but a quick bite," she insisted. She gathered her bag and books and followed Harry through the office to the lift.

When they arrived at the Apparation point on the main lobby level, Harry took her arm in his. "Allow me; I know this great little place." If Hermione had been paying closer attention, she would have seen something behind the grin Harry cast her, and she would have been suspicious. But she didn't see it, because she was watching a little girl pulling her father through the lobby toward the exit doors. He was laughing. She didn't get to see what happened next, because just then Harry Apparated her away.

When they stopped spinning, and she felt solid ground under her feet, Hermione opened her eyes, expecting to be in a crowded part of town. Instead, she found herself in an empty field, with nothing breaking the flat ground as far as the eye could see on three sides, and a line of trees on the fourth. The wind was blowing fiercely, and her hair was flying all around her face. "Harry, where are we?"

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, and now that she was paying attention, she saw a guilty expression plastered on his face. "Please, come with me." He tried to lead her, but she refused to budge. "Please, trust me, Hermione. I'll explain as soon as we're inside."

She looked around her. "Inside where, Harry? I don't see anything!"

"Come on," he urged, "It's very close". She gave in to her curiosity and followed. They walked for five minutes, and finally Hermione saw something other than flat ground. The thing that broke the flat line in her vision looked like a person standing in the distance. Harry urged her toward that figure. As they neared, she was able to make out one standout feature – white blond hair. She stopped walking, fear gripping her insides.

"Harry, what's going on?" she asked, squeezing Harry's arm so hard he thought she'd draw blood.

He became more insistent. "Hermione, please relax. We'll talk inside. Please. Trust me."

"That's Malfoy," she said, panicking. But which one was it? And why was Harry taking her to him? And was this really Harry? As her thoughts tumbled over themselves, she started shaking. "What's he doing here? He's in Azkaban. Harry – are you really Harry? Tell me what's going on this instant, or I swear I'll hex YOU!"

"Calm down, Hermione. It's Malfoy. He's not in prison anymore. Of course it's really me."

"Fifth year, what were you asked to do for your Charms practical?"

Harry rolled his eyes. He didn't see why she was being so irrational. Of course, he had information that put him at ease, and if he'd thought about it at all, he would have been able to see things from her perspective, that she _didn't _have that knowledge, and would rightly be highly concerned at her situation. But he didn't think about it, so he couldn't understand her. "Make an eggcup do cartwheels."

Hermione threw her arms around him tightly, nearly choking him. "Her-mi-o-ne," he stuttered, unable to string two syllables together at once due to lack of precious oxygen.

She pulled back, looking scared, but a little more relaxed. "You don't know how scared I was, Harry. I thought you weren't you, and you were taking me to Lucius, and – oh, what is going on, Harry?"

"Lucius? What?"

"Well, from a distance, he could be Lucius," she insisted.

"Okay, okay. True. Well, he's not. Let's go, okay?"

"He's still him! I am not taking one step further toward him!"

Harry pulled her and as he was much stronger than she was, she couldn't completely resist him, but she put up such a fight that Harry nursed a bruise or two for a week. Finally she gave in and let herself be dragged toward the edge of what she determined was a cliff. Nearing a cliff where Draco Malfoy appeared to be standing set off more alarms all through her brain.

They stopped about 100 feet from the edge.

Draco had enjoyed watching Harry and Hermione approach. He knew it would be difficult to get her to cooperate, but he had no idea how difficult. He watched Harry fighting with her the whole way, except for that strange hug she'd given him, which she followed with a series of sharp punches to the shoulder.

Draco smiled at them when they were within 20 feet of him. "Welcome!" he said happily.

Back to swagger-Draco, Hermione thought. Then she scolded herself. She shouldn't be seeing any kind of Draco! She realized that when they'd spoken last, he must have known this was going to happen, and that made Hermione mad. She didn't like being played with.

"What's going on?" demanded Hermione, feeling dizziness join her list of complaints.

Harry spoke. "I'm going to have to let Malfoy do most of the talking here, Hermione, since I can't tell you myself. But I must tell you now, if you decide not to join us, I will erase your memory and you can go back to work like nothing happened."

"Join you?" she said, incredulously. "What do you mean? And _you _will erase my memory? Since when do you have the right to erase my memory!"

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner, Hermione, I really am. But it had to be kept absolutely silent."

"Join you in what?" she asked.

"We're joining forces. Combining our respective resources," said Malfoy. "To solve a mutual problem."

"And that would be?"

"Voldemort," He said frankly.

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"And Lestrange," added Harry. Draco nodded to him and returned to look at Hermione.

She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. Malfoy had offered Voldemort in Harry's office, she had heard that. Did this mean he'd accepted the offer? "Harry, why would you do this?" She turned to Draco. "And, and Malfoy, you're – you're –" She couldn't put into words exactly what she was thinking, in part because she had no idea herself. Her brain had seemingly turned to mush. Hermione put her hands to her head and closed her eyes, forcing herself to take deep breaths. Then, "Why? None of this makes any sense!" Hermione rubbed her head to try and relieve the pressure that was rapidly building.

"My reasons," said Malfoy.

She gaped at him. "Your reasons? That's all you're going to give?" He just looked at her as though she were a very amusing plant. "Well, that's not good enough for me."

"Too bad," he said, looking at his hand. "Because that is all I'm saying."

"You can't honestly expect me to just capitulate because you promise that you have 'reasons'. How could you think I would be satisfied with that?"

"We don't, Hermione," said Harry quickly, "I'm asking you to trust _me_, trust that the reasons he gave _me _are good enough. Because he can't tell _you _his reasons."

She glared at Harry, arms crossed tightly. "How do I know you're not under a curse right now?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Hermione, because Malfoy doesn't have his wand back yet. I have it, right here." He pulled the smooth black piece of wood out from his robes and showed it to her. She took it and put it in her own robes.

"Hey!" said Draco.

"You get it if – IF – I decide you get it."

Draco looked at Harry angrily. "Potter, I want my wand."

"You'll get it, don't worry."

"Harry, please help me understand what you're doing."

"Hermione, nothing is happening with the Ministry. Every lead we get is crushed, every hope is dashed, and nothing goes anywhere. We start moving one way, but we're led another way, two steps behind where we started. We move backwards, all the while putting on this great show like we're making headway on Voldemort and his followers."

"But this isn't the way to get things done," she protested, turning to face Harry and put Malfoy out of her vision. "This isn't right. You can't just take matters into your own hands and expect things to turn up roses in the end."

"Matters have been in my hands since the night Voldemort killed my parents. Remember the Prophecy? I let the Ministry take matters away from my hands, thinking they would help me. Instead I just ended up another cog in the wheel, putting in my time and wasting away behind a desk. You know what I mean, I know you do. You must have felt this way at some point during these last couple of years. I can see it in your eyes, you agree with me."

"Yes, I do," she said, "But I also think there are rules and laws for a reason."

"I'm not breaking any laws!"

She blinked at him, then turned around and pointed at Draco. "Uhm, does _he _seem familiar to you? Because he's supposed to be in prison. But look, he's not. He's here, he's _free_, and apparently waiting for _you_. That's a law or two broken, I'm pretty sure."

"It's all on the table, Hermione. Part of the agreement we made."

She stared hard into Harry's eyes for a minute, then closed her own. "I'm just supposed to accept this."

"It's okay if you don't. I just know how futile you think the Ministry is right now, and we thought you would appreciate the chance to _do _something about it."

"And what exactly are WE going to do, anyway?"

"Oh, I'm going to kill him," chimed Malfoy, pleasantly. "And my dear Auntie."

"Bellatrix?"

Draco shrugged. "What's one more in the whole scheme of things? Potter won't have to do the deed but he gets revenge on Aunt Bella for Sirius. I go retire to my island – I think I've mentioned it before – happy as a bunny rabbit in springtime. No one gets hurt."

"You're going to kill Voldemort." she said, looking at Harry with arms crossed.

"Yes," said Draco, "At least, we'll disembody him once more. Then we'll search together for the remaining Horcruxes. You tried that a few years back, but went about it the wrong way. You should have killed his current body, and _then_ tried to destroy his soul. Much more efficient, and there's less chance of getting yourselves killed."

She shook her head. "And you want no fame, no glory, nothing – just an island." He nodded. "I don't buy it. It's not your style. You're in this for something for yourself, Malfoy. Don't try to deny it. And there's no way you can live on an island for the rest of your life. You need people to feel superior to, people to insult and put down."

Draco actually clapped his hands together and said in a most gleeful voice, "Oh good, so you'll come too?"

She narrowed her eyes. "And what do you get out of this?"

"Full pardon."

"Ridiculous," she said, shaking her head. She waited for him to tell her what he really wanted. When he didn't say anything, only smiled that crazy, escaped lunatic smile he was sporting today, did she think he might be serious. "You've got to be joking. A full pardon? For everything you've done?"

"In exchange for Voldemort. Oh, and all the Death Eaters, and everything I know about them, which I've already given."

She turned to Harry. "Do you really think Voldemort is worth a full pardon?"

The look he gave her told that yes, he most certainly did think it was worth it.

"Doesn't matter anymore what anyone thinks, least of all you; what's done is done," said Malfoy.

"I beg to differ, oh great evil one. It probably matters to a lot of people."

"Yeah? Like who?"

"Okay, since you're so good with names, let's have a list of all the people you have hurt or killed who will not receive justice for what you did."

He cringed. "A whole list?"

"Yes."

"Let's try numbers, shall we? I'm good with them too. Let's see… 722 no 723 uses of the Imperius, 458 uses of the Cruciatus, and 47 deaths."

"Murders," she corrected. Then she frowned. "Only 47? In four years? I'm surprised the number is so low. So who was the lucky witch who can say she was your last kill?"

"Wasn't a witch," he said. She started to speak, so he added, "Not a wizard. A Muggle." Hermione was shocked. "And number 48 was supposed to be a witch," he said, watching her closely for signs of outburst and also planning an escape route for when the pieces fell together in her head. He didn't know her at all, but he figured she'd be upset to say the least.

Comprehension dawned on her. "Wait, are you saying the last people you killed were my parents?"

"And she _does_ get the prize for brightest in her class!" Then he instinctively put his hands up to protect his head.

"But, that was over a year and a half ago! I cannot believe you haven't killed since then."

"It's true."

"How is that possible?"

He shrugged. "I worked my way up so I could pass that duty off to others. Never seemed to be a problem to my esteemed master."

Hermione shook her head. Draco Malfoy had not only turned himself into the Ministry a month ago, and made an agreement with Harry, but here he was now, claiming that he intended to defect from the Death Eaters with the purpose of destroying Voldemort and the underlings he slaved with for four years. "Still, full pardon is excessive."

"Like he said, Hermione, it's done," said Harry firmly.

She thought hard. "Let's say for a second that I believe you. What's the plan? What am I doing here?"

"You, if you agree," said Harry, "Will help us from the inside. You'll go back to work and feed us information – on Death Eaters, progress, anything that might be helpful. The details of your assignment will be withheld until we have your decision."

Hermione put her hands on her hips, cocked her head, and said in a frighteningly Mrs Weasley-ish way, "Harry Potter, do you really think I would settle for such a menial task?" Draco blinked; was he just impressed by her?

"Blast – I didn't think about that," he said, groaning, "No, of course you wouldn't."

"You're certainly right about that. Informing is not something I will agree to. If I'm joining this – whatever you want to call it – thing – I'm IN, all the way. I won't go back and sit at my desk like a good little Auror, waiting to be given work by you two."

Draco smiled at her, and looked at her as if he'd never really _looked _at her before. The truth was, he _hadn't_ ever really looked at her before. All he'd ever thought about her was that she was a goody-two-shoes, workaholic, study freak who enjoyed a Friday night with books more than an evening with living people. "Didn't see that coming, huh Potter?"

"Should have."

"Yes, Harry, you should have," she scolded. "You know me better than that."

"So you're in?" asked Draco, hopefully.

"Not yet. Since I refuse to play the role of tattle-tale, what will I do? Will I even be useful?"

"Of course you will be useful, Hermione. You could get another job, one you like," added Harry, trying to sound positive. "But the thing is, we do need someone in London at some time, helping gather information. And you're such a good researcher, Ron and I never would have made it through without you, you know that."

He was trying to flatter her and gain her acceptance. Just because it always worked didn't mean she would cave this time. But she found herself intrigued by this new challenge.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Flattery will get you nowhere, Harry."

"Am I getting through at all? Does this interest you at all?" he asked, sheepishly, hopefully.

"Yes, you are. I admit I'm intrigued, and fed up with the way the Ministry is handling things. And I want to say for the record that I think this could turn out very badly." She looked pointedly at Malfoy, indicating that the possibility of betrayal was at the fore of her mind.

"It won't, Hermione. I really believe that."

She sighed. "So, my job will be to do research and pass you information. Do I get to do anything fun?"

"Funny, I thought you loved the library, and looking things up in books was your perfect description of fun," said Draco, feigning confusion.

"Haha, very funny."

"We'll see, Hermione," said Harry, not wanting the other two to talk for too long, for fear that Malfoy would say something to set Hermione off. Or the other way around. "We're not exactly sure how this is all going to play out."

"And if I say no, if I listen to this little niggling voice in my head that's screaming 'bad idea', what would happen?

"I'll Obliviate your memory of everything involving Malfoy."

Well, huh. That was an entire month's worth of memories. Nearly everything she'd done at work related to him, and most of her thoughts away from work were about him. She spent time thinking about ways to slowly and painfully kill him (only for entertainment), ways to humiliate and embarrass him on her next visit, and she even tried figuring out what he was up to. Which, obviously, had been a waste of time. She never would have guessed that he'd be asking for her help. Then something occurred to her, something that she didn't want to think about, but it was like a train wreck; she couldn't _not _think about it.

"If I went back, you'd erase my memory of today," she said, matter of factly.

"Yes," said Harry slowly. "Like I said, all the way back to when Malfoy walked in to the Ministry."

"I see."

"I'm sorry, please know that I am. It feels like all I've done over the past month is apologize to you. But we can't risk having anyone know that he was there. And if I didn't erase your memory, could you truly be okay with what you now know? And if I didn't go that far back, you'd notice that I was missing and Malfoy out of prison, and make a big stink about it."

"I – I wouldn't remember all our meetings," she said, addressing Malfoy.

Draco frowned, not at all understanding her point or why she sounded so unhappy at the thought of not remembering. "No," he said slowly, looking at her thoughtfully. "Though I don't see why that would be a problem."

But it was. She had learned things about him that for some reason she wanted to hold on to. The image of him as a ghost, and his poetic description of himself, were things she never wanted to let go. She had no idea that it had happened, but when he'd quoted those verses from Tennyson to her, she started to wish, deep down in a far away corner of her mind, that she could find something in him worth finding. After all, how could someone who spoke with such emptiness be so full at the same time? And how could someone whose words were deeper than the ocean depths at the same time be empty? And now there was another reason she wanted to remember: the last people he had killed were her parents. That meant something, she knew it.

Hermione thought briefly of her options. One, she could return to work, to a job she didn't really like, where Harry wouldn't be anymore, with no knowledge of where he was or what he was doing, and continue plugging away at pointless tasks, disgruntled because she felt so incredibly useless. Or two, she could help him and Draco Malfoy, sworn enemy, Death Eater, murderer, general scum, do the unimaginable and attempt to destroy Voldemort. Well, when she put it like that, the choice was obvious.

"Okay, I'm in," she said, confidently. She looked at Harry, who smiled, and then at Malfoy, who had a strange expression on his face. She couldn't read it, no matter how hard she tried. Then the expression was gone, replaced by his standard smirk.

"Wonderful!" said Malfoy. "Then please, step into my parlor." As he spoke, a small, two-story house appeared out of nowhere. It looked old as England, and rotten, musty and falling apart.

" 'Said the spider to the fly,' " muttered Hermione as she followed Harry through the door.

**ooo**

**ooo**

**A/N: Would love a little note from you:) **


	6. An Introduction

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters, but I live them like I do.

**Note:** Bonus points to anyone who can tell me what the introduction is about:)**  
**

**ooo **

**Chapter 6 – An Introduction**

Inside, the house was beautiful. There was not a hint of decay or even dust anywhere. Hermione looked at Draco, wanting to comment, but she saw that he looked sad.

"This is my refuge," he said without emotion. "We are now in the foyer. Drawing room," he said, pointing to the room on their immediate left. There was a couch, a few chairs, and tables. "Dining room," to their right – the large table was covered with parchment. He led them farther; they walked down a small hallway toward the back of the house. "Kitchen and small eating table through there," he pointed, "wash room, bathroom, sitting room," he said, indicating each one in turn. Next they ascended a staircase at the top of which was revealed a hallway. "Potter, your room's on the right, Granger, yours on the left. Mine is at the end. Bathroom on the right for you two. Any questions?" he asked, turning to face them.

Hermione had a lot of questions. She noticed that each room was simply furnished, with no extravagance, and it did not fit with her image of Malfoy. But she also noticed that while they were only simple furnishings, they were also of the highest quality available. Why would Malfoy have such a small house? And in the middle of nowhere? Where were the servants, and the grounds, and gardens, and all the other trimmings of wealth?

Before Hermione could pose a question, Harry shook his head to indicate he had none and went into the room designated for him. Hermione then went into hers. It had a bed, dresser, desk, small bookshelf and a lamp; Draco followed her in.

"I know you didn't have time to get anything for yourself, since you didn't know about all this like Harry did. I tried to think of things you might need; there are some robes for you in the closet, if you want. I hope they fit." Hermione looked at him skeptically, then set her bag on the bed. She walked around the room, taking a closer look at everything. She was thankful the room wasn't dressed in green and silver. Instead the bed linens and curtains were a dark blue and the walls a pale grey. There was a window; she pulled back the curtains and looked out to find that her room faced the cliff edge and the stormy waters of the Irish Sea.

"Where are we?" she asked, mesmerized by the constant motion of the water.

"Wales," he answered.

She nodded, then turned her attention to the bookshelf. It contained mostly wizard fiction, tales of high adventure. There were some educational books, and she smiled as her fingers ran across the title, _Hogwarts: A History_. On the second shelf, she was surprised to find a small selection of Muggle titles, mostly classics, and most of which she had already read.

Hermione stood up and looked at Draco, who was standing in the door frame, watching her.

"I will have dinner ready in an hour," he said, and turned to go.

"You will have dinner ready in an hour?" she asked, amused at the idea.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Wait, are you telling me you are actually making it yourself?" she asked, unable to keep the question locked away.

"Stranger things have happened," he answered.

"True, for example, I'm standing in your house and I'm not hexing you."

He gave a small smile and said, "And for that, I'm thankful. I'll alert you when dinner is ready." He turned around and passed out of sight.

Hermione sighed and then, because she had been dying to do so, ran straight to the closet and threw it open. Inside were about eight sets of robes in an array of colors. She gasped, and reached out to touch the emerald green set. It felt like water, it was so smooth; it reminded her of Draco's cloak, which she had kept for the month he was in prison and then returned. The robes were of the highest quality money could buy, and she had no doubt he had the money.

Quickly, as if afraid someone might see her, Hermione rushed to the bedroom door and closed it, then put a locking spell on it. She then returned to the closet and pulled out the emerald green robe. She was a girl, after all, and beautiful clothes simply begged to be admired, and what better way to admire them than in a mirror while on said girl's body? She giggled and changed into the robe. Then she frowned when she realized she didn't have a mirror; she solved the problem by conjuring one.

While admiring her reflection, she couldn't help but think it must be nice to be used to the rich things in life. The robe was light, as though it were made of air. It wasn't cumbersome in any way, and it seemed made specifically for her, fitting perfectly in every place.

Just as she did a little twirl in front of the mirror, there was a knock on her door.

"Come in," she said, then instantly panicked, thinking it could be Draco.

"Uh, Hermione? It's locked." It was Harry.

"Oh, right." She removed the locking spell. "Come in now."

He turned the knob and let himself in, shutting the door behind him.

"Wow, Hermione, you look – wow."

"Thank you, Harry! Isn't it amazing? This robe, I mean. And there are more; they're all amazing. I've never seen anything like them."

Downstairs, Draco was working on dinner. He'd taught himself to cook after moving out on his own. He didn't take on a house elf because he didn't want anyone else living there, so he had been forced to learn to care for himself. It didn't take him long; he was a quick study. It had surprised him how easy daily household chores were, and he wondered why those of similar station as his family required house elves in the first place. Then he looked around his small home and realized that there was no way one would have the time to clean a house the size of his parent's, and get anything else done as well.

Draco heard a series of doors opening and shutting, and concluded that either Harry or Hermione had gone to visit the other. Certainly they would talk, and he was curious as to what they would say about him. He wanted to hear what they would say about him. And – why not, really? It was his house, after all. He flicked his wand and with a crisp, '_Circumduco'_ was able to hear what his guests were saying.

"Me neither," he heard Harry say. "He had me pick them up."

"Really? Why?"

"I don't know. Just in case, he said."

"They're just – I've never seen or felt anything like them."

"Tell me about it. If it hadn't been for the fact that I could see myself holding them, I wouldn't have believed I was. I'd never even heard of the shop he sent me to, and it was in Diagon Alley. I thought I knew every shop there! But it was upstairs, above the street. Very – " Draco didn't know what Harry did, but Hermione chuckled. "You had to knock and be admitted by a maitre de."

"Sounds like the kind of place only the very richest can go. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a surcharge included for breathing their air."

Harry laughed. "From the look of the place, I wouldn't either."

"So, do you know – how much?" Draco smiled as he stirred the slowly simmering pot.

"No way. There weren't any price tags – trust me, I looked. The woman who helped me said it had been taken care of, and I didn't ask because, well, I got the feeling that if you asked for the price, you'd be asked to leave the shop."

"I don't understand why someone would want to shop somewhere so stuffy. I'd rather go somewhere where the people are nice and helpful. I imagine the people who shop there regularly probably never ask for a price. They just hand over the galleons once the total is rung."

"I can only imagine it's a whole lot of galleons."

"When did you get them?" asked Hermione.

"Two weeks ago."

"But Malfoy was in prison."

"I know. I guess he'd arranged it before."

There was a small silence. "So, he must have been expecting me."

"Something like that. I don't really understand it all. We haven't had a chance to actually talk about a lot of this. He must have done a lot of this before coming to the Ministry."

"So he was planning on all of this. He was planning on you coming here, and even – me."

"It looks that way. Though I'm not completely sure why he wanted you here."

"It bothers me. A lot. I mean, he's got books I love on the bookshelf, and these robes. He must know how much I despise him; why would he go to all this trouble?"

"I don't know. It's strange."

There was more silence. Then Hermione spoke again. "Harry, you did marry Ginny, didn't you?" Draco smiled.

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"You know, her safety and all that. She wanted to tell you, but I insisted we not. We've loved each other for years, and staying apart didn't change that. Nothing changed that, nothing would ever change that. We realized we could either spent our time apart, or spend it together. We chose together."

"But you live alone. I've been to your flat, and no woman lives there."

Draco laughed.

"I know. She lives with her parents. Don't you think people would have asked questions if Ginny suddenly stopped living at home?"

"You really took care to make sure no one suspected."

"I had to. I couldn't risk anything happening to her." Harry sighed. "I love her so much, Hermione. I miss her every day we're not together. And now, I won't see her for months."

"You'll get through it, and so will she. I'm really happy for you two." Draco heard Hermione sigh.

"Thanks. And don't worry, Hermione, there's someone really wonderful just roaming around out there, waiting to meet you."

"You think?"

"Of course. Someone who will really appreciate you for who you are, and respect you. And I'm afraid to say, he'll have to be smarter than you. I mean, look at Krum, and that Thomas guy. Not the brightest crackers in the box. You were too bored; there was no challenge."

"I guess you're right. Know anyone like that?" He could hear the smile in her voice.

"I may… but the jury's still out on that."

"Oh, really? Harry Potter, you'd better tell me right now!"

"No way. What if I'm wrong? I can't mess around, here."

"And it's in your hands? That is a frightening thought, Harry."

"I am simply looking out for your best interests."

There was a brief silence.

"You know Harry, if Malfoy knew about you and Ginny, Voldemort probably did too."

"Well, I'm not worried about that."

During the hour under the Vow, Draco had assured Harry that Voldemort didn't know about he and Ginny. Draco had learned of it by absolute chance, and had no reason to divulge the information to his Lord.

"Speaking of Ginny, does she know about this – plan?"

"No, not completely. She knew I was going to leave, but not when or why."

"Poor thing. And Ron too. Why isn't he here with us?"

"I had to choose; I couldn't bring you both."

"Malfoy's orders?"

"Yes, and it made sense. The fewer people, the better."

"So you chose me."

"In the end, I knew, if it came to it, you would let me go. Ron wouldn't. And I'm really glad you decided to join us. Imagine just me and Malfoy alone in this house."

"You seem to get on well enough."

"That's because we called a mutual truce. We'll see how long that lasts." _Thanks_, _Potter, _Draco thought, then added the fusilli to the boiling water. "I'm glad I've got someone to talk to."

"Me too. But what about him?" Draco nearly dropped the knife he was holding. "Who does he have?"

After a moment, Harry's voice returned. "Well, he has his owl." Draco scowled and resumed his chopping, at a more furious pace.

"Harry! You can't talk to an owl."

"Sure you can. They just don't talk back." Hermione might have said something he couldn't hear, but he wasn't sure. Then Harry continued. "He has us, I guess."

"Something tells me he would prefer the owl, Harry. We're not exactly people he would choose to spend time with, as evidenced by the fact that he never has, and he has always been horrible to us, especially you, in the past. This is just too weird. Can you believe we're talking about Draco Malfoy? I'm sure we've stepped into an alternate universe or something.

"I know. Straight out of Trelawny's crazy book. It's been – an interesting month, to say the least."

"Wait," said Hermione, sounding anxious. "How has all this been arranged? You never went to see him."

"Code. He put a code in everything you wrote from him."

There was silence, and Draco imagined to himself that Hermione was staring at Harry, mouth and eyes gaping at him in utter disbelief. He wasn't far from the truth.

"He put a code into what I wrote."

"Yes."

"But – how? I mean, he had nothing with him, no way to write. And he gave me all the information in alphabetical order. How could there have been a code?"

"There was. He gave me the key that first day."

There was a pause.

"Wow, he's smart," she said, and Draco laughed out loud.

"Wicked smart," Harry agreed. They then turned to things that didn't interest Draco, so he turned off his ability to hear them. After half an hour, he listened in again.

Hermione was speaking " – and what about his island? Does he _really _have an island?"

_Huh. _They were talking about him again.

"I don't know, he seems pretty insistent though."

"But who can afford to just, buy an island?"

"Well, he can."

"Oh. Right. But still." There was a brief silence. "I want an island." Draco smiled.

"You should have one," said Harry.

"News flash, Harry. I know my parents had more money than the average Muggle, but they didn't leave me nearly enough to buy an actual island."

"You don't have to buy one, just go fine one, claim it, make it unplottable, and, you know, put it under the usual anti-Muggle security charms."

"Oh, Harry, that's brilliant! You could have one too!"

He laughed.

"Mmm. Something smells good. Now shoo, I want to change before dinner."

Draco then cut off his listening and removed the sauce from the burner. Harry and Hermione came downstairs just as he removed bread from the oven. Hermione stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, an amused look on her face.

"I just had to see for myself. Draco Malfoy doing actual work. Besides the work of bullying first years, I mean."

"Very funny," he said.

"Need any help?" she asked with a superior air.

"No, I have everything under control. I am capable of doing this, you know."

"If you say so." She and Harry sat down at the table to wait for the food, talking quietly. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Malfoy with potholders in hand, moving around the kitchen . When he had placed all the food on the table, he poured them all pumpkin juice and sat to join them.

Hermione eyed him warily and took some food on her fork, but she hesitated before putting it in her mouth.

Draco looked at her. "If I had wanted you dead, I would have killed you _before _cooking a meal for three, thereby saving myself the effort." Then he took a bite to show her he had, in fact, not poisoned dinner. Hermione rolled her eyes, but started eating.

Dinner passed in awkward silence for the most part. Hermione tried asking questions, but Malfoy refused to answer, saying she would get her answers soon enough.

"Why not now?" she demanded.

"Because I don't want to tell you now," he said simply, resuming his meal.

After dinner , Harry went to his room and Hermione offered to wash the dishes. Draco let her and disappeared. Washing dishes was one of Hermione's favorite household chores. There was something quite satisfying about making something go from dirty to sparkling, and the old fashioned Muggle method provided the most satisfaction, especially with really dirty pots. Ginny called her a freak for enjoying dish washing so much, but she couldn't care less.

Finally, when all the dishes were clean and dry, Hermione gave them a satisfied nod. She didn't want to go to her room yet, so she explored the lower floor a bit until she found a door leading outside. She opened it and, stepping through it, found herself on a decent-sized porch. Half of it was covered, and below the cover was a picnic table. On the uncovered portion was a big porch swing that looked as though a person could comfortably sleep there. It was attached to a large wooden beam that formed a right angle with another wooden beam running to the porch floor. Near the swing were a couple of outdoor chairs and a small table. The entire porch was enclosed with a fence and rail, and there was a little door that opened to allow exit from the porch into the back yard, which went for fifty feet or so and then dropped out of sight.

Hermione stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind her. She could smell the salty sea air, and she closed her eyes, letting the wind from the ocean blow through her hair. She took a deep breath and let the wind drive her thoughts away until she was completely relaxed. Once relaxed, however, she became aware of another presence and looked around her. Malfoy was watching her from the covered end of the porch; she shivered and looked away. He stood and walked over to her, her heart quickened. He took off his cloak, the one she'd taken from him when she had deposited him in Azkaban, and wrapped it around her. She nodded in thanks, but was too nervous to speak. He smirked and returned to his seat.

Hermione walked to the railing. Though the only lights shining were the moon and the stars, she could still see, though far below, the waves rolling toward the cliff. The water appeared black, but so alive; it crashed endlessly on the rock face, providing a constant background noise that soothed her nerves and led her toward relaxation. She noticed Draco stand and join her at the railing, though at the opposite end of the porch.

"Why are you doing all this Malfoy?" Hermione asked. It was in her nature to be curious, and to ask questions. Everything about that day seemed surreal to her. She started at work, doing her normal work things. Then she'd gone to visit Malfoy, only to find out that he would be getting out soon. They had a disturbing conversation where he told her that he had been waiting for her in her parent's house, with the intent to kill her, but he hadn't. Then she'd seen him completely differently after she returned to speak to him. The image of him in that little room, looking nearly broken, along with the image of him in Harry's office, haunted her.

Then Harry brought her to Wales, of all places, to meet Malfoy and join him in a secret crusade against Voldemort. The most obvious question that had been running through her mind that evening was, why would he betray everything he'd ever believe in and done in his life to accomplish the destruction of his Master. Surely Harry had to suspect some sort of trap, but he seemed to accept Malfoy completely. This led her to think about what had passed between the two men in Harry's office. It must have been fantastic so have convinced Harry so effectively. However, she was not privy to that information, and so she did not have such a sure trust in this man, this Death Eater.

"My reasons," He said in a tone that was casual but stern.

"So are you ever going to tell anyone?"

"Maybe," he said. Then he turned to face her. "Tell you what, Granger. In 30 years, come visit me on my island. Bring me a chocolate cake with a single cherry on top, and I will tell you then."

"What?" said Hermione, incredulously.

"You heard me."

She shook her head, chuckling. "You are weird, Malfoy."

"Weird?" he said, puzzled.

"Yes, weird. Chocolate cake with a cherry. In 30 years." She turned back to look at the churning water.

"Granger, I'm hurt!" said Draco, putting a hand to his heart and feigning a look of shock before turning to look at the sea with her.

Hermione ignored him. She continued watching the water until her eyes lost focus and her thoughts strayed to other things. If Malfoy hadn't been there it would have been perfect. But maybe it was anyway, despite him.

Draco couldn't help but stare at her. She stood perfectly still facing the ocean, the wind whipping through her hair. His cloak billowed out behind her, as did the dress she wore underneath it. She looked like something out of a painting, one of those forlorn maidens who stands in the middle of a field of flowers, holding a few in her hand that she had picked, and looking wistfully in front of her but not really seeing what was in front of her. There was something else in the maiden's mind that drew her attention.

He was mesmerized. Her expression was calm and free and there was a sense of peace that radiated from her, a peace that had always eluded him. She appeared free of worry, anxiety, and fear, despite all that she had seen, all that she knew about the world. Even his presence on the porch wasn't able to disturb her. Draco was envious of what she had, but curious as well. Was it something you could learn, something that you could explain? He didn't think so, but how did she have it? Her parents were dead, by his hand, her friends in mortal danger every moment of every day, she was in a job she hated, yet she could look like that despite it all. She could still look as though there was something inside her that none of the sorrow and pain could touch.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, unable to restrain his curiosity. He immediately regretted speaking when the perfect peace in her features was shifted just infinitesimally so that worry was once again visible.

She sighed and moved away from the railing. "You, actually," she said, sitting in one of the chairs.

"Me?" he asked, surprised. How could she think of me and still look like that?

"Yes. You're a mystery, Malfoy and I love a good mystery."

"Don't get it in your head to try and figure me out."

She seemed to consider him for a moment before speaking. "But there's so much to see. One minute you're on top of the world; you're pompous, arrogant, confident, carrying yourself like you've not a care in the world. And the next, you're broken, shattered, hollow, plummeting toward the earth in a tailspin. And then, to my surprise, you're silly, almost giddy, like earlier today. You're shallow, yet you can be as deep as that water out there. You don't want companionship, yet you're incredibly lonely."

Draco shifted uncomfortably at her detailed and intricate examination of him. The weight of her words threatened to push him under those ever-raging waves. In an effort to lighten the mood, and avoid talking about himself, he said, "What's a tailspin?"

Hermione chuckled, thinking it funny that of all things he could say, it would be that. "Okay, well do you know what an airplane is?"

"Yes," he said. She was surprised.

"Well, there are small planes, for two or more people, but not for carrying large numbers. They were used in Muggle wars to fight each other in the sky and to drop bombs on the land below. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Yes, Granger, I'm familiar with what Muggle wars and bombs."

"Well, if the tail of the plan got shot off, the plane would dive toward the earth, spinning as it fell."

Draco nodded, understanding as best he could. "Sounds about right."

"So, I pegged you," she said, smiling mischievously.

Oh, he hated feeling so exposed. He was reminded of when she said she'd pegged him in Harry's office. Well, sure, she had written a summary of him. But there was much more to him than her description; there was something behind every word she said that accumulated to form a narrative of him. His entire life, every decision he made, influenced the person he turned into. And he would continue to change; he'd already changed a great deal and she had no idea about any of it. Maybe she never would.

"Yes," he said quietly, "You've formed a snapshot image of what I am. Congratulations. But you know nothing about me." His voice and his anger grew as he spoke.

Hermione's smile quickly faded. "I never presumed to say I know you."

"Well, like I said, don't get it in your head that you want to." He saw her struggling to find something to say. He smiled sadly. "I've got you pegged as well, Hermione. Good night," he said, leaving her to the wind, the waves, and her troubled thoughts.

**ooo**

**A/N:** Thank you for reading! Hope you review - they make my day:)


	7. Rock and a Hard Place

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these lovelies. Though I love messing with them and putting them in difficult and unpleasant situations. They belong solely to JKR.

**Note: **I can't wait for chapter 9! Just wanted to say that! Oh, and thanks to my wonderful betas, who shall heretofore remain anonymous. You are the best!

**ooo **

**Chapter 7 – A Rock and a Hard Place**

The next morning, Hermione woke up to hear the waves crashing below her. She'd fallen asleep on the porch, and found herself on the large porch swing. She distinctly remembered sitting in one of the chairs. Someone had moved her, given her a pillow, and wrapped her in a warm cloak. She examined the edge of the material covering her and saw that it looked familiar; it felt familiar, too. It was Malfoy's cloak. Harry must have borrowed it since he doesn't have one, she thought. She snuggled under the cloak and watched the world grow brighter.

Just as she was about to get up, she heard voices. Instinctually she reached for her wand, but couldn't tell where the sound was coming from. She stood up just as two people flew up on brooms from beyond the cliff's edge, doing twists and turns, trying to knock the other off. When she looked closely, she saw bright blond hair reflecting the sun and breathed a sigh of relief; it was just Harry and Malfoy. She sent up sparks so they would notice her, which they did. With a final spell, Malfoy hit Harry in the arm, which caused him to sway; he overcorrected and fell off.

"_Involito!_" Malfoy said, waving his wand and causing Harry to stop falling and float in the air. Then Malfoy directed him to the porch where he soon landed. Harry then summoned his broom and looked at Hermione sheepishly, embarrassed that Malfoy had managed to best him.

"Hermione, what are you doing out here?" asked Harry, sitting next to her.

"I, uh, fell asleep out here last night," she said, trying to hide her surprise and looking at Draco, who refused to meet her gaze. Huh, she thought; Malfoy took care of me last night. It was a simple thing, moving her from one place to another, providing the basic requirements of rest. But it was also a very kind thing, ensuring that she had something soft under her head and something covering her to keep her warm. Everything she knew about Draco Malfoy had always been a solid wall, formed from years of antipathy and petty bickering. Nothing had ever threatened it before, yet that simply act caused a single brick to break off from the top of the towering wall and crash in slow-motion to the earth.

"What are you two doing? So early, I might add." she asked.

"Training," said Draco. "Up with the sun. And we're hungry."

"I'll make breakfast," she offered. Draco only shrugged and they went inside. While Hermione cooked eggs, sausage and flat cakes, Draco spoke.

"Harry is teaching me everything he learned in Auror training, and I am teaching him some, of my, uh, special talents."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Like what?"

"Don't panic, Hermione," said Harry, "Nothing too dark. Just Legillimancy, Occlumency, Incursus, and random useful spells."

"Harry Potter, what do you need Dark Magic for?"

"Well, for one, to fight the Dark Lord," said Draco with a slight scoff. "He needs to at least know what he's up against, don't you agree? After all, the Dark Lord knows all the tricks Potter can pull. Except that one you used on me," he said, as though he'd just remembered it. "What was that, anyway?"

"Sectumsempra."

"A permanent wound. I still have a bit of a scar, you should know."

"Good. You deserved it! You were going to hit me with the Cruciatus!"

"You beat me that time. You never will again, I assure you." Draco looked at Harry and before taking a gulp of juice said, "Incidentally, where did you learn it?"

"Snape."

Draco spit out his orange juice. "What?"

Hermione set the plate of sausages on the table and joined the men.

"Well, not directly from him, but it was in his Potions book, which I used sixth year. It was written with the words, 'for enemies' next to it."

Draco appeared to be rapidly processing something in his mind. "So is that how you were always so adept? Cheating from an old textbook?"

"Yes," said Hermione huffily. "I told him that book was going to get him into trouble. But he refused to be dissuaded."

"Anyway," said Harry, taking a bite of eggs. "That's unimportant now, isn't it Miss I-of-course-never-do-anything-wrong."

She set her jaw and glared at Harry. "You remember what Arthur told us after Ginny was possessed by that journal – never trust anything that can think for itself – "

"Unless you can see where it keeps its brain," Harry finished. "I know. I've told you a million times that you were right about the book!"

"So, are we set to move on then?" asked Draco, slightly entertained but not at all interested in hearing more about this book.

"Yes," grumbled Harry, taking a drink from his juice.

"As I said, we are training," continued Draco, "And we need to talk about your part in all of this. We will continue to train until Harry has learned a few important spells and has mastered the study of the mind. Including improving his forays into Occlumency. That is of utmost importance. We need you to work on information."

Hermione looked at the bite she'd put on her fork, but before she ate it, she looked at Harry. "What if I want to train too?"

Again, Draco spat out his orange juice. "What?" he said, looking at Hermione as though she'd asked if she could fly to the moon and bring back some cheese.

"_Repurgo,_" said Hermione absently, aiming at the mess. "You heard me."

Draco shook his head. This was not something he had planned for. He expected Hermione to accept her role as he had written it, with perhaps a disagreement here and there, but overall to comply nicely. It must have been the fact that he hadn't really been around her in years that caused him to forget her absolutely stubborn and unyielding traits, not to mention the one that seemed to get her into all kinds of trouble with Potter and Weasley – determination.

"Potter, talk to her," said Draco, deciding that he was out of his league when it came to dealing with her. Harry had years of experience and would be able to smooth this away far more efficiently than he could. He would probably only antagonize her more, unable to resist prodding her and picking at her to get a reaction.

"Hermione," started Harry.

She turned to him and raised an eye, as if to say, this better be good.

"Hermione, we need you on the other end."

"Doing what?"

"Research. Formulating a plan."

"Research?" she said, a bit of disgust lacing the word. "Code for boring."

Draco gaped at her. "I thought you enjoyed research, Granger; thought you liked the library so much you would almost prefer to live in it!"

She regarded him coolly. "Well, I do like research, and I do like the library, and books, and I'm all for helping out, but it's boring compared to what you two get to do. Harry can tell you, I practiced spells just as readily as I studied from books. I don't want to be left out of learning useful spells and tactics, I want to be able to fight too. I do research all day at my job; I didn't leave it to come here with you so I could sit on the sidelines!"

"The what?" asked Draco.

"Nevermind – Muggle phrase. Football."

"Hermione, it can be temporary," said Harry, reassuringly. He didn't want to incur her anger any more than necessary. "Two, three weeks, to get everything you can, then you can quit. We need someone who can freely walk around London and the Ministry. As of Monday, I will officially be labeled, 'missing', and Malfoy can't exactly walk into the Ministry and ask for a library card. We need you to keep a presence in London. After you quit the Ministry, you could get a job you like, maybe work at Flourish and Blotts, or Fred and George's shop." Harry hoped he would be able to distract Hermione's anger and turn it onto something she liked – books and the Weasley twins.

She huffed. "I will _not _work for them."

"Why not?" asked Harry.

"Can you imagine? They would probably torture me endlessly. Besides, they only hire impossibly beautiful witches to work with them, haven't you noticed?"

Draco choked again and decided he'd had enough orange juice for the day. He set the glass on the table roughly, and both Harry and Hermione looked at him; Harry had an amused expression on his face.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes, fine," snapped Draco.

Harry turned back to Hermione. "Yes, actually, I have. Ron rather enjoys stopping in whenever we're in Diagon Alley." He chuckled at his memory of their last visit. "Okay, you don't have to work for them. The idea is to find an easy job with flexible hours. Then you could spend time here, and, well, maybe learn a few things…" he trailed off, looking to Draco for some kind of confirmation.

Draco had been studying Hermione since her comment about the sort of witch the Weasleys hired. Did she really not know? He wondered that apparently her friends had never told her that she wasn't at all… unpleasant to look at. His thoughts snapped back to the present when he heard Harry offer Hermione a chance to participate in their training.

"That wasn't part of the agreement," said Draco, warningly.

"Why can't I learn too?" she asked, nearing a pout.

"We don't have time," he said brusquely.

"Harry can teach me what you teach him; it doesn't have to inconvenience you at all."

"No!" said Draco, banging his fist on the table in impatience. He looked at her with anger swirling in his stormy grey eyes.

Hermione refused to back down, however. "And why not?" she asked defiantly.

Draco spoke very clearly and slowly so she would understand every inflection perfectly. "Harry has chosen this course of action to achieve an end," he said, trying to control his voice to restrain the anger that was threatening to spill into his tone. "He and I will work together to accomplish that end."

"Well, it sounds like you don't really want my help then," she said, rising; then she stormed out of the kitchen and upstairs to her room. Harry jumped when he heard a door slam.

Draco slowly let out his breath, running a hand through his hair. "Is she always so stubborn and impossible?"

Harry only smiled. "Yes. It's part of what makes her special."

"You mean infuriating."

"Sometimes," he said pleasantly. "But it's also what makes her Hermione, and the best and most loyal friend anyone could ever ask for. And besides, everyone needs a little spice in their lives, even you. I can only imagine how dull your life was before she entered it, and now it's sure to be much more lively – and loud – than it was."

Draco scoffed. "I don't need a lively life, and I certainly don't want a loud one. I was quite fine before, you know."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh sure, that's why you came to me with your offer, because you were so happy with your life." He knew he'd crossed a line just a moment too late. Draco's eyes flashed before becoming dark and solid, impenetrable and unreadable. "I'll go talk to her, try to get her to understand our position." Harry started to stand, but Draco stopped him.

"No, I can't have you running to fix things whenever she and I butt heads. Which is probably going to be a common occurrence. I will handle this."

Draco walked upstairs, mentally steeling himself for the row he was about to go through. When he reached the second floor, Hermione came out of her room, nearly running into him.

"Watch it, Granger," he said, stepping away from her to avoid colliding. "Where are you going?"

She glared at him. "I'm not leaving, if that's what you're thinking."

Draco regarded her with curiosity. He was surprised to see she hadn't been crying at all. He assumed girls always cried when they were upset. He was also surprised she wasn't at least threatening to leave in order to get what she wanted. His experience with girls taught him that they were born with the gift of manipulation which they used whenever necessary.

"Why not?" he asked, as though he didn't really care. Inside, however, he was really quite curious.

She looked away from him, down the stairs. "Because. You were right," she said, barely audibly.

Draco blinked and had to resist the urge to perform a cleaning charm on his ears. Instead he merely raised an eyebrow, in a subtle sign of incredulity.

She scowled. "Oh, shut your mouth, you'll catch bugs. And don't look at me like I'm from outer space. I can admit when I'm wrong, you know." She crossed her arms over her chest as if to challenge him to argue.

He tried not to focus on the overwhelming desire he had to find out what 'outer space' was. Instead he focused on the impossibility that had just occurred. Or was it an improbability?

"But – you can?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, ferret face. I can. Just because it doesn't happen often doesn't make it impossible."

Ah, so it had been an improbability after all.

"Anyway, as I said, you were right. You and Harry need to concentrate on your work. I will do my part as I'm _asked_. But Malfoy, I _can_ fight, if it comes to it, and you would not be sorry to have me by your side."

"I don't doubt it, Granger," he said, grateful they weren't going to argue and fight and scream, as he'd been preparing himself to do. "I highly esteem your abilities, and know that you are a very capable Auror. It is my hope that your abilities, great as they are, will not be needed. May we return to Harry and discuss your part in this plan?"

She nodded, then started to turn down the hallway, when she stopped and turned around to him. "Oh, here," she said, handing him the cloak he'd used to cover her the night before. He avoided looking her in the eye and held out a hand to take it. When he did, their fingers brushed, sending an energy surge up Hermione's arm emanating from the point of their contact. She pulled back as though shocked, looking at him in surprise. However, he appeared to have felt nothing as he simply nodded and turned toward his room. Hermione stood for a moment watching him walk down the hallway, then shook her head dazedly and descended the stairs.

Draco had indeed felt the surge of energy pass between them, but he didn't want her to see the shock he felt. He didn't understand what happened; he'd never felt anything like it and wondered what it meant. He deposited the cloak on the bed and paused to relive the moment. Their fingers merely brushed, but the jolt was overpowering and strong. He frowned, digging through his mind for some possible explanation of what had happened. When nothing logical surfaced, he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts and left his room.

Harry and Hermione were talking pleasantly when he re-entered the kitchen. He collected the dishes from the table and put them in the sink.

Harry took it as a cue that it was okay to continue their conversation. "So, where were we? Oh yes. We will train here. There is a ledge about a third of the way down the cliff large enough for a proper duel. When you don't find us here, in the house, that is the most likely place we would be, should you need us."

"As I'm sure you already know," said Draco, "This house is protected under the Fidelius Charm. Should anyone chance to venture this far from civilization, they would see nothing but an empty field. It would not do to be seen while dueling"

"The Fidelius Charm? How?"

"I am the Secret-Keeper."

"For your own house?"

"Yes."

"How is that possible?"

He sighed as though she were a two-year old asking questions about why the sky was blue. "That is not important right now, Granger."

She looked at him for a moment, then turned to Harry and said, "Okay, what about me?"

Harry took a deep breath before continuing. "You have a very important task."

Hermione looked at him, anxious to know what part she would play. "Well?" she said after a moment of silence from her friend.

"Your task is a clean-up plan." She frowned, not understanding. "Once Voldemort is dead, the Ministry is going to have the huge job of rounding up all of Malfoy's mates."

Draco looked up at Harry from the dishes, mildly amused at his choice of words.

"The Death Eaters," said Hermione.

"Yes. We want you to come up with a plan for the Ministry to handle that task."

She nodded, thinking of the list of names Malfoy had given them; it would be an enormous job.

As if he'd read her mind, Draco said, "And that list I gave you is not comprehensive. That was all I could discover." He sat down with them after finishing the dishes.

"Hermione, you can do whatever you like about the job," said Harry, trying again to remind her that there were good things involved with this plan.

"Oh, Granger. There is one part of this task that I think you might enjoy, which is also highly important - figuring out what each Death Eater will do once the Dark Lord is dead. Some will run, some will fight, and some will turn themselves in claiming the Imperius Curse. Like my father, for example."

"As if anyone would believe that," said Hermione before she could think. When she realized what she'd said, her eyes widened and she braced herself for Draco's outburst, but it never came.

He just gave her an odd look and continued. "Or my mother, who never actually took the Mark. She could claim that my father controlled her, which isn't actually all that much of a lie."

"Your mother isn't a Death Eater?" said Hermione.

"For all intents and purposes, yes; through association. She never took the Mark of a follower because she married Lucius and he took it. The wife of a Death Eater has no rights or say in anything; she must follow her husband as he follows the Dark Lord. Aunt Bella was something of an exception, but she had shown a proclivity for the Dark Arts, pain, torture, and the like from a young age. The Dark Lord does not accept many female followers. However, my mother would certainly deserve Azkaban, though I don't think she's actually taken life."

Hermione flinched at his casual comment about murder. She was suddenly and forcefully reminded that this man had killed her parents. She'd been so caught up in the whirlwind of what was happening that she let herself forget. About her parents; about that night when she'd found them; about what a monster the man sitting opposite her really was. How could she have been so thoughtless, so irrational; so blind? She looked at Harry, suddenly very afraid, and not just of Malfoy – of herself.

Harry frowned. "What, Hermione? Are you okay?"

She nodded, but Draco noticed her hands were shaking.

"Hey," said Harry, raking her hand and trying to soothe her fears, whatever they were. "You're okay, all right? I'm here; no one will harm you. I will protect you."

She nodded again, trying to calm herself. Get a grip, she told herself. She couldn't let him see her weak; he couldn't know how easy it was to hurt her, he would only rub salt in the wound, pushing it in further with the tip of his wand until the pain became unbearable.

"I'm fine," she said, forcing a brave voice.

During this exchange, Draco thought about what could have happened to cause Hermione to turn pale as a ghost and appear to have possibly seen one. He had just finished talking about his mother – that she hadn't killed anyone. But he hadn't said killed, he'd used fluffy words instead. Was that it? The day before, on the plain outside the house, he'd claimed 47 deaths; she'd corrected him to say murders. Maybe that was it; no, it couldn't be, it wasn't enough to elicit that dramatic an effect on her. He closed his eyes tightly as he realized what it was – her parents. She'd suddenly remembered them, and remembered his part in it, and he wished he could go back and erase what he'd said. He had not meant to cause her pain and regretted that his words had done just that.

"I'm fine," repeated Hermione, sounding more sure of herself than before. "It sounds like I would be better off keeping my job at the Ministry. I can keep tabs on the Death Eaters more effectively, since it is my job, after all, to hunt them down. In addition, it will help me get to know my fellow Aurors more, so I can see who would be best to go after whom once it comes to it."

Draco smiled at her. "I knew I picked you for a reason, Granger. It's that brain of yours."

Hermione tried not to reach across the table and wring his throat. Working with Malfoy was going to be much more difficult than she imagined, now that she could say once again that she wished he were dead. Or dying. Or rotting from the inside out. She grinned a little at the thought.

Then she sighed and said, "I did like the idea of working at Flourish and Blotts. Okay, what now?"

Harry spoke. "Where you live. It's up to you; you can stay here, or live in London, or anywhere you want, really."

Hermione hadn't thought about where she would live, she assumed she would stay there, on the edge of the cliff. The fact that she had an option made her frown. "Oh."

"It's up to you," said Harry, not wanting to pressure her to make a decision.

"Can I think about it?" she asked.

"Of course," said Harry.

"I'll have a decision for you tonight," she said, looking at Harry. She refused to look at Malfoy any more than she had to. He and Harry stood.

"We'll be training today then. Thanks for breakfast, Hermione," said Harry. The men left.

Hermione spent most of the day thinking about two things: Draco Malfoy and where she should live.

She sat on her bed for the entire morning while thinking about him. Malfoy had killed her parents, and yet here she was, sitting in _his_ house, eating _his_ food, breathing _his_ precious pureblood air. How could she possibly live in the same house with him? She felt certain she would be sorely tempted to hex him nearly every moment they interacted, not just for her parents but for every time he called her a Mudblood. She frowned. He hadn't called her that once since he resurfaced in their lives. Why not? He'd had plenty of chances; maybe it was part of the agreement he made with Harry. Only something very serious could be the explanation for his lack of using his favorite word for her. That must be it, she decided.

Wouldn't it be dishonoring her parents' memory to live in Malfoy's house? She tried to think about what they might want, but whenever she did, it only made her feel like crying. She didn't know what they would do because they weren't there, because he'd killed them. How could she possibly think about this clearly? "No", Hermione, she scolded herself, "think; what would your parents want you to do?"

She summoned a piece of parchment, a quill and an ink bottle and started a list of things she thought might help her in this decision. The most important thing, she decided, was that she would be helping Harry and incidentally _him_ defeat Voldemort, which would help the entire world, not just the magical world. And if Harry believed that Malfoy had something that would help him defeat Voldemort, and she trusted Harry with her life, then she had to trust that Malfoy did indeed have something that would help. She wanted to be there for Harry and with Harry as much as he would allow; they were friends after all. Since Malfoy seemed to be the key, or to at least have the key, that meant putting up with him.

The weight of what it would mean for Voldemort to be defeated hit her. Freedom for all wizards, witches, and Muggles, from him, from fear, from everything that had reigned since his return six years prior. Her parents would stand behind her decision to make the world a better place, even if it meant she had to work with their killer. She just knew this about her parents, because they were good people, who taught her to be good and to think about the big picture. Many lives were at stake in the war, and many lives could be saved through what Harry and Malfoy were doing. Those lives were more important, in the end, than her own. She had already accepted that she might die for the war, and this situation was merely being in an unpleasant situation. For an indefinite amount of time. Still, much good could come from it. She would have to sacrifice her happiness and peace temporarily for the good of all the people who would be saved by an end to the war.

Hermione smiled as she realized she felt a peace settle on her heart at this decision. With that dilemma solved, she found she was hungry and made her way to the kitchen to make a sandwich for lunch. She didn't want to see the guys, so she took it to her room to eat. After she had finished, she heard the sounds of them coming inside and finding lunch.

She read for a little while before turning to that other task – deciding where to live. Hermione summoned two more pieces of parchment. On one, she wrote "London: pros and cons", and on the other, she wrote "Malfoy: pros and cons". For the next two hours, she filled in the lists with all of the good and bad things she could think of for both places.

Finally, she leaned back to look over her lists. In London, she would be in her own flat, with all her own things, near to her friends and her job, and to the Wizarding world in general. She would be free to come and go as she pleased, to do whatever she wanted. But she would be away from Harry and it would be more difficult to be in touch with everything that went on here.

On the other hand, living in Malfoy's house would be a sore trial. She had strong feelings where he was concerned. She had hated him for many months after the murder of her parents. And she was pretty sure he still hated her. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to have to live with someone you hated. She imagined untold numbers of arguments, smirks, looks of disgust, and references to her blood (just because he hadn't mentioned it didn't mean he wouldn't ever). And it was his house, meaning she would be expected to follow his rules, if the subject ever came up. What if he treated her like a slave, or worse, a house elf, since she was of such 'inferior' position? What if he wanted her there for the added bonus of housekeeper? She would outright refuse such a position. Her list of cons for living with Malfoy was the longest one she'd made, while the list of pros was the shortest. She would be close to Harry and therefore would know what was happening with him. But that also meant she would be close to Malfoy, another con.

By dinner, she still had not come to a conclusion. She picked through the cabinets to collect a makeshift meal, then returned to her room to eat alone. Again she heard them rummaging for food, and this time they did not leave once they'd eaten. She could hear the muffled sound of conversation and it only distracted her. She cast a silencing charm around her room and smiled at the quiet that followed.

After another hour of poring over the lists, adding to them, and changing them, she sighed heavily. There was a battle going on inside her of logic versus emotion. Usually, logic won easily, but this time she was pulled strongly in the other direction. But logic was quite useful, and had never steered her wrong before, whereas following her heart, her emotions, had. Like fifth year, when she let Harry convince her that they needed to go to the Ministry to save Sirius.

Her heart was pulling strongly this time, much more strongly than it ever had. It was telling her that this was important, that what they were doing was important, that it needed tending. With another heavy sigh, Hermione put away her lists and went to find Harry. He and Malfoy were in the sitting room, talking seriously in low tones. When they saw her, they hushed.

"Harry, can I talk to you?" she asked.

"Yeah, of course," he said, standing. They walked out onto the porch where Hermione sat in the chair she'd fallen asleep in the night before. Harry sat in the other chair. There was a storm brewing over the sea. The wind was colder than it had been the previous night, and she could see lightning flashing in the distance.

"Well," she started, "Everything I've thought about, all the angles, all logical thoughts point to London," she said, not taking her eyes off the storm. It seemed to be calling to her, pleading with her. Whenever the lightning flashed, she could see the waves leaping toward the clouds and the water rolling like a boiling potion.

"Okay, I understand," said Harry. She could tell he was trying to hide his disappointment.

Then she turned to look at him. "But Harry, the truth is, I just don't _want_ to live there. I want to stay here, with you, where the action is." She turned back to the raging storm. "I love it here."

"Hermione, I just want what's best for you."

"I know." She was quiet for a minute. "I could sit here all day and all night and never get tired of looking at it. The water out there. It took a little piece of me last night. I haven't felt this calm since before – " she paused, and swallowed the lump in her throat. " – in a long time. And even though it's _here_, where _he _is, I think that's okay. The sea is so alive. It's like the world is breathing with every ebb and flow of the water. Its depths are unending, it's voice unrelenting. You could drown in its deeps or be saved by its call. Yet it can kill you without pause, with a single glance."

Harry said nothing for a while. "So you love it here? Already?"

"Oh, yes. I've never spent much time by the water, but this sea has enchanted me, Harry."

"It's incredible." Then Harry groaned. "Oh, Hermione, I promised Ginny I would owl her when I left to let her know I was okay. Do you mind if I go write her now?"

"No, of course not, go."

"So you've made your decision, then? You'll stay here?"

She nodded, and looked up to smile at him. "Now go write your wife." He took off without further encouragement. Hermione smiled at the storm and at the thought that Harry and Ginny were married. Then she shivered in the cold wind.

After a few minutes, the door opened again. She was about to ask Harry more about his life with Ginny, but she felt the warmth of something soft being placed around her shoulders, and she sat forward to allow Draco to put his cloak around her again, letting it fall between her back and the chair. Hermione then took hold of it and pulled it around her completely.

He sat down where Harry had been. "So how's the weather today?" he asked, looking at the storm.

She chuckled. "Is this an attempt at a conversation?" He didn't speak for a few minutes. "Clear blue skies, and 10 chance of precipitation," she finally responded, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"Good mood, then?" he asked.

She nodded. "I absolutely love it here."

Again Draco was silent for a few minutes. She didn't seem to take much note of him, but inside his nerves were churning. He'd come outside to say something to her, to tell her something he'd been wanting to say for a long time. He knew she wouldn't understand, would probably be angry, and there was a slight possibility she would curse him for it. But he had to say it anyway, no matter how she would react. When he'd finally calmed his nerves enough to speak, he said, barely audible over the ever-approaching storm,

"Would it matter if I told you I was sorry?"

Hermione froze. Did he mean what she thought he meant? Unbidden, tears came to her eyes and she let them fall, unashamed. She couldn't answer him – there was nothing to say. They were gone, and he couldn't bring them back, not with an apology, not with all the magic in the world. What did it matter that he was sorry, what possible good would that do? She felt numb. She had just hours before decided to put aside her feelings of anger and hate for this man in order to help Harry accomplish an important task, but here he had to go and say THAT. To speak of her parents, to her.

Draco watched her cry. She didn't even bother to wipe her tears. He wished he could say he felt nothing at seeing her cry, but it wasn't true, not even close. He watched as she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on them, never taking her eyes off the sea and the storm. After what felt like an eternity, he realized she wasn't going to say anything to him.

He sighed and stood. "Don't sleep out here again. It's going to rain." Then he went inside. She made no move to indicate she'd heard him, and it wasn't until a full 20 minutes had passed that she responded.

"What do you care?"

**ooo **

Just before going to bed, Draco checked the porch. Hermione was still there, in the same position he had left her. He went to Harry's door and knocked.

"Potter. Hermione's outside and it's going to rain."

"Okay, thanks; I'll go get her."

Draco returned to his room and waited until he heard Harry leave his room, go down the stairs, open and close the back porch door, then open and close it again, and he heard two sets of footsteps ascend the stairs, followed by two doors closing. Then he put out his light and went to sleep.

**ooo **

Once By The Ocean  
Robert Frost

The shattered water made a misty din.  
Great waves looked over others coming in,  
And thought of doing something to the shore  
That water never did to land before.  
The clouds were low and hairy in the skies,  
Like locks blown forward in the gleam of eyes.  
You could not tell, and yet it looked as if  
The shore was lucky in being backed by cliff,  
The cliff in being backed by continent;  
It looked as if a night of dark intent  
Was coming, and not only a night, an age.  
Someone had better be prepared for rage.  
There would be more than ocean-water broken  
Before God's last Put out the light was spoken.

**ooo **

**A/N: **Please review if you liked it, please review if you didn't (and tell me why!).

I also want to thank my repeat reviewers: Riha-Jas, TequilaKiss, bely, NotreDamegirlie, adriennelouise, orangeyouhappy, blackXxXblossom, AlwaysLove, Operation Milkdud, arlekina, Jedi Knight Bus, frith, sleepingbeauty18, Apathetic Empath2, slytherinqueen23. Hope I didn't miss anyone!

Review are LOVE:)


	8. The World's Not Falling Apart

**Disclaimer: **As usual, I'm making most of this up, and the world belongs to JKR.

**Note: **Chapter title belongs to the wonderufl Dar Williams. And, because I didn't post anything last week, I intend to post another chapter later this week. So you'll know I love you:)

**ooo **

**Chapter 8 – The World's Not Falling Apart**

The next morning, Hermione woke up angry. The previous night it was as if her brain had been turned off. She didn't think about anything – not Malfoy, not her parents, and certainly not what he said. But sleep had done her well, and her mind was already spinning when her eyes flew open. How dare he! He had brought up her parents, without her permission, and then attempted to say he was sorry! SORRY! As if he could even know what that felt like!

She threw off the covers and sat up in bed. She absolutely refused to spend another minute in the house with _him_. She showered and dressed quickly, anxious to quit the house as soon as possible. She didn't even want to eat breakfast there. Hermione packed a small bag – she would not return that day, and possibly never. Even though she'd decided to live there, in Malfoy's house, she could always change her mind. After all, the logical choice was to live in London, and Harry would be fine without her.

Hermione smelled breakfast, and her stomach growled. She made her way noisily down the stairs. Harry and Draco were sitting at the table, discussing the morning's training session. Neither of them looked up when she entered the room. When she saw _him_, she scowled, and a small something inside her snapped.

"How dare you!" she practically screamed at Malfoy. "You have no right. Don't you _ever_ speak to me of them again, do you hear me? I am here for Harry; I could not care less if you fell off that cliff. If you expect me to accept your apology, or even acknowledge it, then it's obvious you know nothing about me. Not that you've ever wanted to know me, you arrogant pig; I've always been too _below_ you to be worth your notice. Which I am perfectly fine with. You can continue in your prejudiced ways for all I care, just don't ever mention them again to me. I will make sure you never speak again. Don't try me, I mean it."

Draco sat perfectly still absorbing her outburst. He wanted to interrupt and tell her that all the blood stuff didn't matter to him anymore, that it hadn't in a very long time, but he decided it would be best for him to keep his mouth shut.

She turned to Harry. "I'm leaving. I'll be back tomorrow after work." Then, with a glare at Malfoy, she added, "Maybe." She turned on her heel and headed toward the door.

"Granger." Hermione turned around, anticipating his rebuttal and ready to fight him. But he just flicked his wrist and a piece of parchment flew toward her. She caught it; it read "Hake's Edge". Of course – she didn't actually know where she was, and would not be able to get back without knowing. She said nothing and walked onto the front stoop.

"Hermione," called Harry, following her. "Could you get this stuff for us?" he asked, holding out a list of items.

"Sure," she said, her heart slowing to its normal rate.

Harry forced a smile that ended up looking like he was in a moderate amount of pain. "Nice exit."

She returned his wary smile "Thanks. I'm going to the Burrow today. Anything you want me to say to, oh, I don't know, your wife?"

"Oh, Hermione, no. She doesn't know you're with me. Remember, it's supposed to look like nothing's changed for you."

"Really? Even for Ginny?" she was sad that she would have no one to talk to about what was going on except the two people – well, one person and one snake really – who were involved.

Harry knew what was bothering her, that it would be hard to keep such a huge thing secret. Not that Hermione wasn't good at secrets, he just knew she needed to talk about things going on in her life, and now her list of listeners was a grand total of two. "I'm sorry, but no, she doesn't."

Hermione sighed. "Okay. Well, I'll see you tomorrow." She hugged him tight. "Bye, Harry. Be safe. If you accidentally toss Malfoy off the cliff, I won't be upset."

He chuckled. "Now, Hermione, you know I can't do that."

She shrugged. "I can hope, can't I?" "Have a good day. Oh, and when I don't show up tomorrow, you'll have to act surprised." She nodded, then Disapparated.

Harry returned to the kitchen and sat down. "Want to tell me what that was about?"

Draco frowned. "Her parents."

"Oh."

They were silent for a few minutes, finishing their breakfast.

"My, she is a feisty one, isn't she?" said Draco, standing to put his plate away.

"You have no idea."

Harry and Draco spent the day training. It was the first of what was to be hundreds, possibly, and Harry was exhausted. Draco put him through all kinds of what he'd called 'tests', to determine Harry's skills and his weaknesses, both magical and physical. As the sun went down, Draco ended the session, and told Harry they would continue with the tests the following day.

Then Draco made dinner. After they started eating, he told Harry he would reserve judgment on his skills until he'd had a thorough look at them. The rest of the meal passed in silence.

Harry spent his time thinking about this potential mess he'd gotten himself into. The thing was, he trusted Malfoy. The things he'd told him that day in his office had shocked Harry to the core – one thing in particular – and Harry thought nothing would ever shock him again after all he'd seen.

He didn't know how this would turn out, but Malfoy seemed confident they would be successful, that _he _would be successful. He seemed to have an answer for every doubt, every question Harry raised. Except Hermione. Draco was oddly silent with respect to her, and had been since that day in Harry's office. Either he didn't want to talk about her, or he didn't have any answers.

Harry suspected the latter; Hermione could be a wild card, as the previous day had shown when she demanded to be trained as well. He wished it were possible. He knew she would pick up on things more quickly than him, thus not directly impeding his own training, but it would still _delay _his training. And Malfoy insisted they stick to a rigorous schedule; Hermione wouldn't be able to keep up with training and do her main task.

Harry sighed. He missed Ginny already. They didn't live together, and no one knew about them being together, to say nothing of them being married. It almost made it fun. They had to sneak around, meet in obscure places, sometimes for as little as ten minutes. But it was worth it; they never took their time together for granted. He intended to see her, if only on Christmas, and he hoped Malfoy would let him off to see her more often, but even if he did, it would be tricky. They had to go around her family, and the added complication that Hermione knew about them and was with him at the Edge, and would see Ginny much more… it made his head spin to think about.

He was glad Hermione would be there this weekend, when he told Ginny he was gone on his secret mission. For one, she'd have her good friend with her, and two, it would throw off any notion that Hermione knew what was going on with him.

"Thanks for dinner, Malfoy."

Draco looked at him and merely nodded.

"I think I'll head up."

"Okay."

Harry left Draco at the table and went to his room. He tried reading, but Ginny's face when he told her he would be leaving soon on a mission, _not _sanctioned by the Ministry, and wouldn't be able to see her or write her much, kept disturbing his concentration. Her face had been full of sadness, but determination as well. She'd told him that if he was sure it was the right thing, she'd support him, but be worried all the same. She was her mother's daughter, after all.

He gave up reading and lay in his small but comfortable bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about his beautiful wife until he drifted into a relaxed sleep.

**ooo **

Hermione arrived at the Burrow as they were sitting down to eat breakfast. The Weasleys welcomed her gladly, talking animatedly with her and forcing food onto her plate. She looked at each one of them in turn while she ate in silence. Molly and Arthur were just the same as they'd always been, loving and kind and warm. Bill and Fleur were absent; they lived in the Wizarding section of London. Charlie had moved home a few years ago, after Dumbledore died, to help fight on the front of the conflict with Voldemort; he was laughing at something Ron said, taking a bite of eggs.

Percy had returned to the fold one evening two years prior and his mother had accepted him back with no explanation, causing an uproar among the other boys. Eventually, Percy apologized to the entire family, gave an attempt at an explanation, which Fred and George scoffed at, then broke down crying, telling all of them that since You-Know-Who returned, he'd had nightmares every single night that one of them died. Molly had immediately started crying, as had Fleur, and hugged her son tightly. Arthur and Bill were the first to accept his return. Hermione supposed it was because they were older, and understood truly what this war meant – that at any point one of them could die – and they didn't want to take the chance of not saying how they felt about each other. Charlie was next to accept him, and Fred, George, Ron and Ginny soon followed, but they weren't as forgiving as the older siblings. Fred and George especially carried a grudge, even now.

They were currently stuffing flat cakes into their mouths, talking happily with Ginny about their newest line of products. Their business had grown so rapidly that they had opened a branch in Hogsmeade, where Ginny worked with George; Fred stayed in the London shop. They were quite well-off, and gave a lot of money to the Order and their families

Ron had been injured badly in a battle 14 months ago. He had become an Auror, like she and Harry, and they were called to investigate a warehouse suspected to house Death Eaters and a number of Dark objects. Though twelve Aurors made the trip, they were greatly outnumbered. It seemed as though there was some sort of gathering scheduled for that night, as there were nearly 50 Death Eaters present. They were outnumbered, and on enemy territory. It didn't take long to decide they needed to retreat, but several were injured and one killed before they made it out. Hermione nearly chocked on her juice when she realized Malfoy had probably been there, considering he was such an important Death Eater. Hermione resisted the urge to scream in frustration; what was she doing? Was she really doing the right thing? She shook her head to clear him out of her thoughts.

Ron had to learn to walk again, and the recovery took nearly a year. Now he was back to his normal self, but he hadn't reentered the fight, wanting just a little more time to rest and be with his family. He was planning on returning to work in October, but with Harry's absence soon to be noticed, she wondered if he would return at all. She knew he would want to do something useful, and thought that instead of returning to the Ministry, he might devote his time fully to the Order.

Ginny was laughing at Fred and George, but Hermione could tell that all was not well with her friend. There was sadness at the edges of her eyes that was not usually there. Hermione wished she could hug the girl and make that sadness go away.

After breakfast, she spent the morning with Ginny and Ron, walking around the yard and talking.

"Have you seen Harry, Hermione?" asked Ron. Hermione felt Ginny tense next to her.

"No, why?"

He shrugged. "He usually comes by for breakfast on Sundays. It's a big meal here now, and he's always here. Just wondered if you knew anything."

"No." She hated lying to them, to her dearest friends.

"Oh well. Maybe something came up," said Ron, shuffling his feet through the leaves.

Ginny nodded and changed the subject. "How's work going for you, Hermione? We haven't seen you in a few weeks."

"You remember that really hard assignment Harry gave me?" They nodded. "Well, it finally ended Friday. I am very relieved to have it out of my life." She groaned inwardly, thinking that the assignment, Malfoy, was in her life more than ever now.

"That's good, Hermione," offered Ron. "Was Harry at work Friday?"

"Yes," she said, nervous that the conversation had returned to Harry so quickly.

"He didn't stop by all weekend. I'm worried."

"Oh Ron, don't be silly," she said, trying to sound as easy as possible. "I'm sure he's fine. Like you said, something work-related probably came up."

"Still, he always comes for dinner or just to hang out," he continued.

"Ron, let's just drop it, okay? We don't know what's going on with Harry, but I'm sure he's fine, and he doesn't need us worrying about him," said Ginny, clearly not wanting to continue this conversation.

"Fine," he said, grumpily. They talked about light subjects the rest of the morning. Lunch was spent with the entire family again, and after lunch, Ron went with Fred and George to their shop and Hermione spent the time with Molly and Ginny, baking cookies and cakes for a Ministry function that Molly and Arthur had to attend during that week.

It sometimes amazed Hermione that life kept going in the strangest ways, despite the War. Part of her thought that things like balls and fancy dinners shouldn't happen, that people shouldn't laugh, until they were safe. But then, they wouldn't truly be safe once Voldemort was defeated. That was part of life. The other part of her realized that of course people should laugh, because it's how you fight, why you fight; so laughter could continue.

Dinner was delicious, as always, and after dinner everyone sat together in the main room, talking, reading, or whatever they wanted. The Weasleys cherished the time they had together and spent every moment possible with each other, even Percy. Ginny got the letter from Harry after dinner and went to bed early. Hermione excused herself to go to her and talk if she wanted. She knocked on the door to Ginny's room, which was where Hermione would be sleeping as well.

"Come in," came Ginny's voice.

Hermione opened the door and shut it behind her after she was in the room. She sat on the bed next to Ginny.

"Is that from Harry?" she asked.

Ginny nodded. "He's – gone."

"What do you mean?"

"He – he went on some mission. I don't know anything about it." Hermione knew that Ginny wanted to tell her everything, about their marriage, Harry's mission; everything. But she didn't, she just wiped her eyes and crawled into bed.

It was hard for Hermione; she wanted to comfort her friend, but she couldn't do it properly without telling her that she knew, and she'd told Harry she wouldn't. She sighed and got into bed as well, thinking about everything that had changed in her life that weekend. She drifted to sleep, her last thought about Harry.

**ooo**

The next morning, Hermione went to work as usual. Harry's failure to show for work caused quite a stir, but most figured he would he there the next day. She guessed that they would start to panic by the end of the week. After an otherwise uneventful day at work, she went shopping for the things on her list from Harry. She visited most of the shops in Diagon Alley before going to her flat.

Hermione collected a few things – some clothes, a few favorite books, and some things she thought she might need, even though Malfoy had provided more than enough. Malfoy. Hermione plopped down on her bed, scowling at the thought of him. She decided she would return, for Harry's sake; she couldn't leave him alone, and she didn't trust Malfoy for one second. With her there, at least she could keep an eye on Harry.

But she dreaded returning and having to face him again. Why had he apologized? Nothing made sense; it didn't fit with the picture of him she had formed in her head. He was heartless, evil and cruel. And he'd killed her parents, something she could never forgive. Never. How could she even have bothered to say she could never forgive him; of course she couldn't, it didn't even need thinking. But she'd thought it, nonetheless. It disturbed her to no end.

Hermione shook her head clear of thoughts about the blond boy and, making sure she'd gathered everything she needed, Apparated to Hake's Edge. No one was there when she entered the house, and for a brief moment she was relieved, though it meant only a postponement of seeing his face. She put the bags of supplies on the dining table and went outside to the cliff's edge. When she looked down, she saw the ledge they'd spoken of, and Harry and Malfoy were there, spells flying in all directions.

Hermione returned to the house and started dinner. An hour later, the men hadn't returned, so she set the table and kept the food warm, then settled in the drawing room with a new book. Another hour passed before they came inside.

"Mmm… Hermione must be back," she heard Harry say. "Be nice, Malfoy."

Hermione heard him grunt, "I know, Harry." She smiled, grateful for her friend.

"Wonder where she is?" said Harry.

Hermione stood and went into the drawing room. "Hi, Harry!" she said brightly, hugging him. She ignored Malfoy, even refusing to look at him. She sat at the table while they ate, talking pleasantly with Harry.

"How was the Burrow?" he asked.

"Wonderful. Everyone was there, even Percy, the monstrous git. He's really been trying, but Fred and George refuse to accept him, even after all this time. They weren't as close to him as Molly or Arthur, or even Bill and Charlie. So they have no desire to forgive him. It hurts Molly severely. Ginny has been trying to be nice, but her brothers always scold her for talking to him. It's unfortunate, really."

"Yeah, that's a shame. I mean, Percy's always been a right prat, but it's been a year, already. They should just let it go and try to be a family again."

"What happened?" asked Draco.

Hermione refused to acknowledge that he'd spoken. She looked at Harry, who sighed and told Malfoy the story of Percy walking out of the family after Voldemort's return, then of his return a year prior.

"Oh."

"Ron and Ginny asked about you. Apparently you're a regular fixture at the Burrow and your absence was noted and not appreciated."

"Did Ginny get my letter?"

"Yes, last night. She didn't talk to anyone about it though, and I couldn't very well ask about it."

"How are Molly and Arthur? Any news from Remus and Tonks? Moody? Anyone?"

Hermione saw Draco roll his eyes. Without looking at him, she said, "This is what it's like having friends and people who care about you, Malfoy."

"Hermione!" cried Harry. Draco said nothing; he stood and took his plate outside to eat on the porch. Harry looked at Hermione with sympathy in his eyes. "I know this seems impossible. We should all make an effort to be civil."

"Why? He's not."

"Yes, he is. He didn't say a single mean word to you and you were terrible to him just now."

"No mean words tonight, anyway."

"Hermione, he didn't mention your parents in order to hurt you."

"Oh really? Do you know what he said?"

"Well, no, but – "

"Then you don't know, you _can't_ know why he mentioned them. I don't even know! I cannot believe he had the nerve to talk about them to me."

"Hermione, I have put my feelings about him away. It's been hard, but he's made it easy, surprisingly. He hasn't said or done anything to upset me or push my buttons. Why would he do that to you?"

"Because he hates me!" Hermione was yelling now. "I'm a Mudblood, the lowest level of filth to him. He _killed_ my _parents_!"

Draco could hear her from outside, and he lost his appetite rather quickly after her last outburst. He left the porch and walked to the edge of the cliff. He threw the plate full of food over the cliff with all his might, then watched it tumble into the abyss below. The plate was swallowed up by the crashing waves; part of him wanted to be swallowed up too. Was this really worth it? Was he doing the right thing? Of course he was, he had been planning this for a long time, and he'd had plenty of time to think it through. She was making it difficult, but he should have expected it. He had to an extent, she was just being more difficult than he'd imagined. Her parents' death bothered her more than he'd anticipated, but he wasn't surprised that he'd underestimated her passion. He had nothing he cared about enough to really miss if it were taken away, certainly not his own parents. They had done nothing but poison him since he was born; they'd never shown him love or even affection. Only impossible expectation followed by disappointment when he failed; and he always failed to live up to his father's standards.

No one had ever cared about him until he met _them._ He tried to think how he would feel if _they _were taken away from him. And he could just begin to imagine Hermione's pain at losing her parents. He softened toward her a bit, though he would still be hard on her. He had to be. He couldn't risk getting too soft, and he certainly couldn't risk getting too close to her.

After what felt like hours, he became aware of someone standing nearby him.

"Hey, can we talk?"

He turned around to see Hermione standing a few yards away from him, biting her lip.

"What," he said blankly.

She sat on the grass and looked at him, waiting. He shrugged and sat down where he was.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Draco nearly laughed he was so surprised. "Why? You've not done anything."

"If we're going to be working together, we – I – need to at least be civil. I won't try to hurt you anymore."

"You didn't. Hurt me, I mean." It was a lie, and she probably knew it.

"Well, I still meant to hurt you; I won't try again. We'll probably still fight and argue, but I won't try to hurt you deliberately."

He said nothing, still stunned that _she_ was apologizing to _him_. He wasn't much one for apologizing; it meant he was wrong, and he didn't like to be wrong. He rarely was, in truth.

"So, what do you think?"

"You're right; you need to be more civil towards me."

Hermione stared at the back of his head, incredulous. Then he turned around slightly to look at her, and she saw a small, awkward smile on his lips. Her tension eased, and she slowly returned the smile. Then she pulled up a handful of grass and threw it at him. "Jerk," she said, with barely any malice in her voice.

Draco merely returned to looking at the water.

"Goodnight, Malfoy," she said, rising. Draco stayed by the edge of the cliff, thinking maybe this would turn out all right after all. That maybe they would get along well enough and get through this without killing each other. When he finally went to go inside, he found Hermione asleep on the porch. He covered her again with his cloak and went inside.

**ooo**

**A/N:** Did you know that reviews absolutely make my day? Can't wait to hear what you think:)


	9. New Zealand

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or anything you recognize. :)

**Note: **Here is chapter 9. I truly hope you all like it. Sorry I posted it later than I intended, but that just means another chapter this week. Thank you to all my loyal readers! You make my day with your kind reviews:)

**ooo**

**Chapter 9 – New Zealand**

For the next two weeks, Hermione barely saw the two men. She woke after they had already left the house for training, ate breakfast alone, then went to work. She would work her normal business hours, then spend four or five additional hours in the Ministry library working on her task. She would then return to the Edge and there would be food left out for her. Harry and Draco would either be asleep or out, where she didn't know. She saw Draco only once over the two weeks, leaving late at night.

The second Friday, Hermione had an unexpected visitor to her desk in the Auror's office.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," said a friendly, Irish accent. Hermione looked up from her paperwork, still frowning slightly at what she had been reading.

"Seamus! Hello, how are you?" she asked, still somewhat distracted.

"I'm doing quite well, thank you. So, what do you make of Harry? It's been two weeks and no one's heard a word."

Hermione forced a look of concern. "I'm really worried; I just hope he's okay, wherever he is."

"The rumor is that Death Eaters got him."

"No! That's not possible! They would be gloating and telling the whole Wizarding world that they have him. Or worse."

"Well, that's the most popular theory going, anyway. So how are you handling it?"

Again she forced herself to appear upset and flustered. "I don't know, we just don't know what to do. He hasn't written me, or Ron, or even the Order. All we can do is forge ahead. We have no reason to panic just now, and it wouldn't help anyone to do so."

He shook his head. "Man, why Potter? It's not fair."

"No, it's not." Hermione started packing her things to leave.

"Say, Hermione, I was wondering… if you don't have plans tomorrow night, would you, uh, like to have dinner?"

She was stunned by his question, and simply stared at him for a second or two before collecting herself. Was he asking her out on a date? What should she do? It really couldn't hurt anything, could it? I mean, he was a friend; surely it was just a friendly catch-up dinner. It couldn't hurt.

"That sounds nice, Seamus. Is Dean coming along?" she asked, hoping to determine if he wanted dinner to be a date. They started walking toward the lift.

He looked awkward, giving her a lopsided grin. "Well, uh, no, I actually haven't asked him, but if you want me to, I can."

"No, no, dinner with you sounds lovely. What time?"

"Uh, six?"

"Perfect."

"Shall I pick you up at your place, then?"

Well, it sounds like a date, she thought. "No, I plan to come in to work tomorrow; with Harry gone there's just a lot of extra work, and I'm behind. How about we meet somewhere?"

"Okay. There's a Muggle place a few blocks over I've been wanting to try. How does that sound?"

"Lovely. I didn't know you ate at Muggle places."

"Hey, if the food's good, I'm not concerned with how it was prepared." He smiled warmly at her.

She laughed. "Spot on!"

"How about I meet you here, and we walk to the café. Since I'm not sure how to tell you to find it."

"That sounds good. We'll meet here, in the lobby at six?"

Seamus nodded. "Yeah. Uhm, Hermione?" They stopped walking. "Do you want it to be a date?" He watched as she made no reaction, then continued, rather quickly, words falling all over each other. "Because that's how I meant it, but if you don't want that, we can go as friends, but if you did, you know, want to see, then I'm up for that too, if you want."

She smiled. "Seamus, a date sounds lovely. Though I can't promise anything. I'm very distracted right now, with Harry missing, and no word from him, and dealing with all the Weasleys… I'm afraid I'll be rather dull company."

"Nonsense; impossible," said Seamus, breathing easily once again. She had reached the Apparation points and stopped walking. He stopped too, smiling before saying goodbye and Disapparating. Hermione sighed and she too Disappeared with a _pop!_

**ooo**

Hermione didn't see Harry or Draco that night, and went to bed feeling rather lonely. Seamus asking her out was completely unexpected. They rarely talked when they saw each other at work, just a pleasant wave or smile in passing. He had been one of Harry's roommates at Hogwarts, a decent student, and generally good Gryffindor. For some reason, Seamus' request for a date made her feel lonely. The closest she could get to a relationship was an acquaintance at work.

But when she really thought about it, she would admit to herself that she had pushed many chances away in the last year or so because she was determined to help Harry finish his battle. Then she could move past all the sadness and despair that came from the War to really let herself live. For her. Then she remembered that even Harry refused to wait. He had married Ginny without telling a soul (yet somehow Malfoy knew), knowing that he had every chance of dying before the end.

Or in the end, most likely. Because when Harry and Voldemort battled, the outcome would change the world. The only question was, would it be for good or bad? How could she even think about romance or – dare she even think it – love, when there was so much pain and suffering in the world? Death Eaters attacked and killed at will, Muggles and magical alike. Did love even really exist in the world? Or was it just a shadow of love, a struggle to escape from the darkness just even for a moment? She wasn't sure, but she felt that other things must come first for her. That was part of being Harry Potter's friend. Others could go on with a semblance of normalcy, loving, and laughing, but she had to remain strong and constant for him. He couldn't have her running through emotions like Lavender Brown went through lipstick.

Hermione had accepted this, and found peace in it. Peace that came from knowing that her place in the world was by Harry's side. She would fight for him and with him until the very end. Then, if they both survived, she would start fresh, pick up the pieces and move forward with her vision for her life.

Despite remembering her friend and everything they had been through since he and Ron had saved her from a giant troll in a bathroom, she still felt lonely. There was still part of her heart that was missing, that had never been filled, and could never be filled with all the friends in the world, or all the books, or all the knowledge she could acquire. She fell asleep, thinking about the hole that only seemed to grow as time passed.

**ooo**

The next morning, Hermione allowed herself to stay in bed longer than usual. Her thoughts from the previous night still sat heavily on her heart. She dressed for the day, then looked out the window. What she saw made her heart light again, and tears sprung to her eyes as she gazed at the scene in front of her.

The sun was shining brilliantly on the water, and there were dozens of brightly colored sailboats sprinkled over the water's surface. It was a small glimpse of a world where there was no Voldemort, no War, no Death Eaters, no killing spells; a small reminder that the world could be beautiful, even through all the darkness. Light always follows the nighttime. The world would get through this War, and would breathe again. She smiled, and went to the closet that held her robes from Malfoy. With a tiny hop, she decided to wear one on her date with Seamus. After all, the sun was shining, and the world was good.

Hermione gathered her things to take to work in her bag and headed downstairs to eat breakfast before going to work, humming softly. Harry was sitting at the table in the kitchen and he looked up from his papers when she walked in.

"Hermione, wow, you look nice," he said, smiling.

She returned the expression, and said, "I have a date tonight."

Harry's eyed widened in surprise and amusement. "Really? A date? With whom?"

"An employee in the Department of Magical Games and Sports." Harry continued to wait expectantly for a name. "Seamus," she finally said, smiling a little.

"Wow, I had no idea he fancied you."

"Well, it's part of my work to get to know my coworkers better," she said, a twinkle in her eye, "just doing my job."

"So when are you meeting him?"

"After work today," she said, sitting down and putting some of the eggs and meal Harry had made on a plate.

"You're going to work today?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Well, you don't have to."

She frowned. "Why not?"

"Malfoy thought we should have a day off."

"Oh," she said absently. "Where is he anyway?"

Harry shrugged. "Hasn't come down yet. So, Hermione, what do you want to do today?"

"I have no idea, I haven't had time to think about it."

"Would you like to travel? Somewhere exotic, perhaps?"

"Well, that sounds really nice, but – "

"Wonderful!" he cried, "New Zealand it is, then!"

Hermione frowned. "But Harry, I didn't think you could leave here!"

"Oh, no, I can't. I'll be staying," he said, quickly taking a bite of meal.

"But – then – what?"

"Oh, you'll be going with Malfoy." He ducked instinctively, sure she'd throw something at him – fork, bowl, curse.

When he looked back at her, she was just staring at him like he'd sprouted an extra head.

"Hermione?"

"There is no way on this earth I would go _anywhere _with him!"

"Morning, you two," came _his _voice.

"Malfoy," said Harry, taking another bite.

"Urrgh!" screamed Hermione.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her and fixed himself some meal. "Anger management issues, Granger? You really should get help for that." He did, however, notice that she wore one of the robes from him. It pleased him.

"Is Harry telling the truth? You expect me to go galloping across the globe with you today?"

He sat down and said, as though he were commenting on the weather, "Yes. I have a meeting, and you need to come."

"Do I have a choice?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Yes, of course. But it is crucial that you accompany me. And I assure you, it will be much more interesting than sitting around here all day."

"I could go to work."

"Or come with me to New Zealand."

"I'd rather die," she said, dropping her flatware noisily onto her plate.

"As you wish," he said, shrugging. He finished his oatmeal without another word. Hermione stomped up to her room, slamming the door.

After a few minutes passed in silence, Harry said, "That went well." Then he stood to put water in his bowl to soak it.

"Think she'll come?" asked Draco.

"Yeah. Give her some time to decide it's something she wants to do, instead of something you're making her do or asking her to do. About 10 minutes should do."

"It's been close to that already."

"You'd better be ready to go, then."

They heard a door slam upstairs, and heavy feet on the stairs.

"Fine," she said. "But we're leaving now." She walked outside and waited on the front stair.

Draco smiled at Harry. "You're good." He left and joined Hermione.

"Unfortunately, Granger, I'm going to have to have your arm, since you don't know where we're going."

She rolled her eyes and extended it. He made sure not to actually come in contact with her skin and Apparated them away.

**ooo**

They landed on the waterfront, where the sun was an hour or so away from setting. For a moment, Hermione thought this was Draco's idea of a sick joke – a romantic sunset? What was he thinking?

"Uh, Granger, come with me, please." She followed, disgusted at herself for even thinking he knew what romance might possibly look like.

They walked down the street of a small beach front town. She liked the shops and smiling people, who weren't in any real hurry to get anywhere. Some even waved. She looked at Malfoy, whose hair was now black.

"You look, decent," he said.

"Nice, Malfoy, the word is nice." She waited for a retort, but got none. "I have to be back by six."

"Why?"

"I have a date."

He tensed, and said, "How _nice._ Who's the lucky gent?"

"Seamus. Finningan. You remember him?"

"Irish Gryffindor? Brown hair, not too good at school, especially Potions?"

"Yes."

"Nope." She snorted. He led her to a restaurant with a view of the water.

"Your meeting is here?" she asked.

"Yes." They sat down at a table and were given menus. Hermione looked hers over briefly and settled on a fish entrée. Malfoy was still looking at his – or was he? He was pretending to look at it. Just then a middle-aged couple walked in and went to sit outside. Malfoy watched them intently. When Hermione turned to look at them, she saw nothing especially interesting that would take or hold his interest. The waiter came and took their orders.

"This is a Muggle place, Malfoy."

"I know, Granger. But thank you for telling me. You will notice that our attire has not drawn unwanted attention. It has been charmed to appear like Muggle clothes. I do my best to foresee problems and avoid them." He took a sip of his water and looked out the window.

"Since when do you know anything about Muggles?"

He rolled his eyes. "I know a great deal."

She was getting frustrated. He had dragged her here, insisting that he wanted her to come, and now he wouldn't even talk to her. She folded her arms and sat brooding silently. It annoyed her how little the silence seemed to bother him, and she was reminded of their cart ride to Azkaban. It felt like a lifetime ago. Eventually the food came, and they still hadn't spoken again.

Hermione looked at her food, blackened Kahawai with asparagus tips in a cream sauce with garlic and herb potatoes. It smelled delicious, and her stomach growled slightly before she picked up her fork. The first bite was incredible; the fish was juicy, moist, and full of flavor. It was by far the best meal she'd had in a very long time. She looked up at Malfoy; he was watching her, an amused expression on his face. He had yet to start eating.

She scowled and looked at his meal – the filet, with broccoli and yams. It looked delicious.

"You going to eat, Malfoy?"

He smirked. "Of course. I'm just enjoying watching you eat is all."

Her scowl deepened. "Well, quit. Eat."

He chuckled, and took a bite. "So, Granger, how's work?"

"What do you care?" she snapped.

He regarded her coolly. "I don't. I got the impression you weren't enjoying the silence, so I attempted to relieve you."

"Well, now that we're talking I find I prefer the silence."

He chuckled again. Oh, this side of him infuriated her. He was so confident and cocky it made her want to scream in frustration. She hated that he knew something she didn't, namely why they were here. She assumed she had some part to play; what other reason could there possibly be to drag her across the globe to eat dinner with him? Surely not for the pleasure of her company. Even through his arrogant mask, she saw that he was not, in fact, enjoying being around her.

A few minutes passed in strained silence. Then he spoke again. "My work is going very well, thank you for asking."

Hermione glared at him. He was smiling lightly, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. As if he hadn't a care in the world. So many faces, so many masks. Which one was the real Malfoy? Was there actually a true face, a part of him that was real? Did he even know which one it was? Right now, he was sporting a jet black hair color that made him look disturbingly pale, almost sickly.

"Why is your hair black?" she demanded.

"I'm wanted here too, you know. I'm pretty much wanted everywhere. But they always look for that signature Malfoy hair. Back in England, simply changing my hair and eye color wouldn't fool someone who was really looking for me, but here, it's enough."

Hermione peered into his eyes and frowned. "They're blue," she said.

"Very good," he said sarcastically, "Stellar observation."

"But, aren't they always?"

Draco put on a hurt face. "Oh, Granger, you don't know what color my eyes are? I'm so hurt!" He casually took another bite of steak, showing her that he could really not care less about her lack of observation.

Hermione scowled and took another bite of her meal, but she couldn't help but wonder what color they really were. She tried to think of a time when she'd looked into them, and during the time he was in Azkaban there were plenty of such occasions, but she couldn't quite capture the color of his eyes; all she remembered was the swirling of emotions – fear, anger, hate, anticipation – that she saw in them. Even the one time he'd allowed her to look deeply into his eyes, she couldn't recall their color.

"How's the fish?" Hermione was pulled from her thoughts as Draco reached his hand over to take a bite from her plate. She stabbed his hand with her fork, not bothering to be gentle about it. "Ow!" he said, retracting his arm and scowling at her.

"Eat your own meal."

"Tsk, tsk, Granger; after all, I'm paying for this meal. And if I want to try your food, I will." He reached over again, and this time Hermione let him take a piece of fish from her plate, though glaring at him relentlessly to assure him she wasn't happy about it. He put the bite into his mouth and as he chewed, he concentrated on the taste of the fish. "It's good; better than mine. I guess you win the meal, Granger."

She rolled her eyes. "Win the meal?"

"Yes. Your selection is better than mine. Would you like to try mine and weigh in with your opinion? You're always so eager to share it, after all."

Hermione did want to try his steak; it was the most expensive dish on the menu, so it was sure to be good, and she had trouble believing her fish was better. But she didn't want to eat off his plate. That was too – familiar.

"Yes, please; would you cut me a piece and give it to me?"

He gave her a quizzical look, then obliged. He handed her his fork, and she took the piece of meat and put it on her plate, then returned his fork. She stabbed the meat with her own fork and put it in her mouth. It was perfect; perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked, perfectly delicious. He was crazy; the filet was by far the better choice.

"Well?" he asked.

"Your meal is better."

He smiled, almost a real smile. "Again, we disagree."

"That's how it's meant to be, isn't it?" she snapped.

Draco sighed; he wanted to get through this dinner as quickly as possible. "So, Granger. Tell me something about yourself."

"Like what?" she asked.

"I don't know, something I don't know."

"You don't know anything about me."

Draco almost corrected her, but that would expose a part of him he wasn't ready to expose. He might never want to, but he would have to, eventually.

"Then please," he said, pleasantly, "Enlighten me."

"What would you like to know?"

"I don't know, something. Anything. You choose."

"My favorite book is _Pride and Prejudice _by Jane Austen."

He rolled his eyes. "Lovely. Really informative."

"What's yours?"

"What makes you think I like books?"

"Because, you're always reading when you're not doing other things."

"I don't really have one, actually."

"How can you not have a favorite?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, just don't. I like books about Dark Arts and Dark Wizards and the good guys getting shoved into the mud."

Hermione glared at him and resolved not to speak to him again for the rest of the day.

Draco, not knowing of Hermione's resolution, spoke to her again. "So is tonight your first date with Finnigan?"

Hermione promptly forgot her resolution of only 30 seconds as her temper flared. "That is none of your business," she snapped. "When is this meeting of yours, anyway? I want to leave."

"My, but you look lovely when you whine," he said with no hint of amusement in his voice, only anger which he was surprised to find. She continued glaring at him, unable to eat another bite.

"Hermione, I'm just trying to make pleasant conversation, and you are doing anything but."

She nearly dropped her jaw upon hearing him use her name, but she kept her face under perfect control. "Pleasant?" She gave a forced laugh. "You? You wouldn't know what pleasant conversation looked like, even if it pranced through this room with a giant sign flashing, 'this is pleasant conversation!' Do you even know what that means? Because if this is your attempt, then I really must wonder."

His eyes flashed; she smirked, glad that she was finally able to get a rise out of him and wipe that arrogant look off his face.

"Yes, I know what pleasant is, though honestly, I'm much more familiar with unpleasant. Such as now, for example."

"You are insufferable."

"And here I thought we were starting to get along," he said, barely keeping the rage from breaking loose and yelling at her.

"Get along? With you? I'd rather be force-fed to a blast-ended skrewt. You are an evil, spineless, hollow man, Malfoy," she hissed.

There would be no controlling of his tongue as he spoke next. "And you are a stuck-up, whiny, spoiled little girl who thinks she's better than everyone else because she's got her nose stuck in a book all the time. Potter and Weasel always cater to your wishes, don't they? Well know this – I will not; ever. So just shut up already, and quit whining about how mean I am, or how unfair I'm being. I could be a lot worse."

The glare Hermione directed at her dinner companion would have reduced Harry and Ron to blubbering for her forgiveness, but Draco merely looked bored.

"I'm leaving," she spat, tossing her napkin onto the table and standing to walk past him. He reached out and grabbed her arm.

"Not yet," he hissed, pushing her forcefully back into her chair, though very careful not to hurt her.

Hermione was boiling. She wanted to hurt him, very much and repeatedly. But how? She glanced around the room, looking for inspiration. Her eyes fell on a wine rack, then the waiter. She started to smile maliciously; Draco didn't like the look in her eyes.

"I'll be back," he said, standing. She ignored him as he walked away from their table, but turned to watch him walk outside to the couple who had entered earlier. She tried to hear what they said, but he easily blocked her attempts. She could only watch, and what she saw made her nearly fall out of her chair.

**ooo**

Draco walked slowly outside, willing his nerves and temper to calm before he spoke. When his breathing had sufficiently slowed, he approached the man and woman that had entered shortly after he and Hermione had.

"Hello!" said Draco, genuinely smiling. The woman stood and hugged him affectionately; the man shook his hand.

"Draco," said the woman, "How are you?"

"I'm – fine. And you?"

"So much better, now that we've seen Hermione."

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "About that; I apologize for speaking so harshly to her. She and I – well, I think it's obvious we don't exactly get along."

"I think that's a bit of an understatement," said the man, smiling warmly.

"How is she?" asked the woman.

"Other than being royally put out at being here with me, she's fine. I'm sorry I couldn't get her to talk more about her life; I'm not too good with small talk."

"It's okay, son," said the woman, "We understand."

"How is your plan progressing?" asked the man.

"On schedule. It's still very early, though. There are many things that could go wrong, but I'm confident that we will be able to work through them and accomplish our goal."

"Tell us more about Hermione, please."

Draco sat down with the couple. "Okay, she still works at the Ministry, she's very good at what she does. She can make a mean scrambled egg, she still reads insatiably, and she still throws herself into everything she does full force. She's happy to be helping Harry, but doesn't appreciate the fact that she's also helping me. She misses Ron and Ginny and wishes they knew about our plan as well."

"And she has a date tonight?" asked the woman.

"Yes, apparently."

"How does that make you feel?" she asked.

He clenched his jaw, ground his teeth, and set his lips in a taut line. "I really don't care."

"Uh-huh," said the man, grinning.

"Do you love her?" asked the woman.

Draco had to shake his head to clear the cobwebs. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Do you love her," she repeated.

Upon hearing the question repeated, he concluded that he was not, in fact, losing his hearing, but that the woman sitting across from him had lost her mind. "I'm sorry, but _love_ her? Are you mad? How can you even ask that? You heard us!"

She smiled, that annoying smile that only a mother can pull off, and said, "Yes, I did."

Draco sighed and put his head in his hands. "How could I love her? I don't even know what love is; I don't even know who she is."

"Truth takes time, Draco."

"The truth," he chuckled. "The truth will make her hate me even more than she already does."

"But she'll forgive you," said the woman, putting a gentle hand on his tainted arm.

He absently ran a hand through his hair again. "I don't know, she's got such a stubborn streak. She's so angry; I don't think she will be able to forgive me. Maybe in 30 years…" he thought of her knocking on the door to his small, island cottage, cake in hand, big smile on her face… ring on her finger, children in tow… "But she's got some fire in her. She's absolutely – " What? Was there any one word that could be used to describe her? He shook his head; no, it needed a slew of them. " – she's a whole bunch of things."

The man laughed. "That's Hermione, all right."

"Please be patient with her," pleaded the woman.

"I will. Now, if you don't mind, would you ask her to do the same?" The couple laughed. "Well, I should get back," he said, dreading the moment he would leave these two people and return to the harsh world of reality. "Would you like to continue listening to us? Maybe she'll be more open."

"Please," said the woman. She stood to hug him once more. "And Draco, you know that we love you."

He smiled again, the same genuine smile he reserved only for them. He nodded and turned to go back inside. He felt on top of the world as he slowly walked to the table; his heart, which he'd only recently become acquainted with, felt lighter than it ever had.

Hermione was sitting on their table, looking a little too pleased with herself, and just a tad nervous. Draco was immediately put on guard. He sat down, watching her warily.

She smiled, a smile that was too forced to be genuine, and said, "Hello. Welcome back." There was something in her tone that was cold as ice. He shuddered. "Was that your meeting?" she asked, again too forced to be real. He nodded, every nerve in his body screaming for release from the agony of waiting for the hammer to fall. "I ordered dessert."

He exhaled and nearly laughed with relief. "Oh, that's fine."

"For everyone in the restaurant." Draco's laugh died in his throat, and he stared at her. "And a bottle of wine for each table." His jaw dropped. "And two for our table. Don't want to have to share." She smiled at him with utter loathing and started to eat her dessert, a rich, creamy chocolate cake with fudge and raspberries. She'd ordered him a chocolate chip cookie with a single dollop of cream on top.

Draco could barely speak. "Wh – why? How?"

She waved as if it were nothing. "Oh, don't thank me, Malfoy. I know you can afford it." She happily continued her dessert, savoring each bite for his viewing pleasure.

Draco looked at his cookie. Part of him wanted to reach over and wring her neck, throwing his entire plan out the window. The other part of him threatened to burst out laughing. He smiled at the cookie and its pathetic dollop of cream. "Good one, Granger," he said. He picked up his fork, scooped all the cream from the cookie and put it all in his mouth.

Hermione watched him, the thrill of the deed fading. He just smiled, and – was that a sort of compliment? She'd wholly expected him to yell and make a scene, but instead he simply sat there, obviously enjoying his cookie. She shook her head.

"You are – so – odd, and confusing, Malfoy."

"Thank you," he said, finishing his cookie; it hadn't been very large.

She watched as he placed his fork on the dessert plate and reached for the wine. He poured himself a glass, then filled hers.

"Cheers," he said, then slowly sipped from his glass.

"Malfoy. Those people out there – you actually looked happy, or content, or whatever it takes to make you actually smile. Threw a real wrench into my perfect image of you."

"Sorry for that."

She chuckled. "Who were they?"

"And why would I tell you?"

"They certainly weren't your parents," she said, hoping to be able to extract some amount of information from him, a task at which, up until now, she'd been quite unsuccessful.

Draco instead returned to the snarling person he'd been before his meeting. "Let me make myself perfectly clear. Never speak of my parents again, do you understand?" He wasn't yelling at her, but his tone was so solid, so jagged, that she felt as though he were ripping out her stomach and cutting it apart in front of her. She was scared of him, right now, at this moment. Only in the cart heading to Azkaban had she ever been scared of him before, and in both instances she had mentioned his family. "Do you understand?" he asked through clenched teeth.

She nodded, tears threatening to spill out of their reservoir.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, his anger evaporated. "I don't like talking about them. And I don't like yelling at you." She eyed him warily, as he took another sip from his glass. Then she realized that he had, in a twisted way only he could pull off, apologized. The man sitting across from her boggled her mind.

"Are you finished?" he asked calmly, looking at her half-eaten cake.

"Yes," she said softly.

Draco motioned for the waiter to bring the check. When he saw it, he nearly fell out of his chair.

**ooo**

"1200 pounds?!" he shouted at her as soon as they were out the door. "What kind of wine did you buy?" To say he was livid was an understatement. His head was throbbing so hard with rage that the edges of his vision were beginning to become obscured.

"Only the best," she said, feigning a look of confusion. "Try some; it's quite good."

"It had better be the best bloody wine in the entire world," he muttered. They walked in stony silence through and out of the village, down to the water where they'd Apparated.

They arrived just in time to watch the sun disappear over the horizon. Hermione gasped. "Oh, it's beautiful," she said. The sky was painted with vibrant colors – pinks, purples, blues, oranges – and the sun sent streaks of light through the clouds.

Hermione sat down in the sand to watch the colors and clouds change. Draco cringed, as the expensive robe he'd bought for her was wrinkled and dirtied by her action. He had to remind himself that he'd bought them for her, and if she wanted to mess them up, that was her right. But a vein in his neck still twitched slightly as he watched her.

"Really, who were they?" came her tiny voice, barely audible over the steady beat of the waves.

Draco opened the bottle of wine he'd taken from the restaurant and sat down beside her, much closer than he had ever been to her before in a non-threatening way. Hermione glanced at him suspiciously, but he only downed a few gulps straight from the bottle. Then he took a few more gulps, then a few more. Maybe he could wash away everything bad he'd ever done.

"People I care about."

"You can care?" she asked, then instantly regretted doing so.

He sighed, looking out at the water. "Granger, that is really getting old. I am a human being, though it may not seem like it most of the time." Another swig; the bottle was now approaching half-empty – or was it half-full? "Yes, I can care. I can maybe even love…" his voice trailed away as he stared, unseeingly, at the vast expanses in front of him. Expanses of water and air. Two things necessary for life. What was life, anyway? Was he living? Was he drowning in it? He made a quick list of everyone he had ever loved in his life. There were two names on it, and they belonged to the couple he had met that evening.

"Though its not something I'm good at, or have any experience with. Or even want to, really, but in truth there are different kinds of love, and I can feel at least one of them. But that other one; I'm quite certain that's impossible for me." He took another gulp of the wine and stared into the bottle's opening. "I'm going to get drunk," he said, tossing the bottle back again. But no liquid made its way into his mouth, and he opened his eyes to find that he was no longer holding the bottle.

It was in Hermione's hands. "No," she said, as though that were all it took to convince him that her idea was the better one. He watched in tipsy horror as she poured the rest of the bottle into the ocean.

"Hey!" he half-yelled, "I paid 1200 pounds for that!"

"Oh well," she said. "Drinking rots your brain. And slows your reflexes. And makes you fat."

"Does not," he protested, as she handed the empty bottle to him. He looked into it once more; it really was all gone. Draco could feel that bushy, numb feeling that comes with drinking too much, and he decided it really must rot your brain. "Oh, Granger, you're no fun."

"If that's what you call fun, then I'm not sorry. Can we please go now?"

"Fine," he said, trying to stand. He'd effectively consumed over half a bottle of wine in the space of five minutes. Standing wasn't going to come naturally anymore. He stumbled a little bit and walked toward her, then fell onto his knees when a wave of – something – hit him. "Mother," he muttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes and helped him stand. Then she linked arms with him and Disapparated them both back to England.

When the familiar spinning stopped, they found themselves standing on the front porch of Malfoy's house. Draco was unable to discern that they had, in fact, stopped spinning. "Wow," he said, trying to steady himself on the doorframe. He made a mental note that drinking, being drunk, or trying to get drunk did not go well with Apparating.

Hermione forced Draco into the house. Harry was in the drawing room. "Malfoy's drunk," she said.

"Am not!" he cried, ripping his arm out of her grasp and then promptly stumbling into the wall. "Oops, over corrected. Won't happen again."

"Draco, it's only two in the afternoon. Really, you have a problem," kidded Harry.

"I do not," he whined, "I only had – "

"Half the bottle!" said Hermione.

"It was really good!"

Draco stumbled into the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets. Harry and Hermione heard him shout, "Ah-hah!"

"So, how was New Zealand?" Harry asked her.

"Beautiful. The trip? Horrible."

"Why?"

"Him."

Draco returned to the drawing room, now quite sober. "Hermione made me spend 1200 pounds because she is an angry, spiteful person. Everyone in the restaurant got wine and dessert, courtesy of moi."

"Ouch," said Harry, grinning at Hermione. "So, how was the meeting?" he asked, glancing at Draco.

"Fine. It was fine. Everything is fine."

"Lovely," said Hermione impatiently. "I'm off then."

Draco spun around to face her. "Your _date _isn't until six!" he said, emphasizing the word date.

"I'm going to stop at work first," she said, casting him a glaring smile.

"I gave you the day off!" he said, anger returning to voice.

"To do with as I please. Since the first half wasn't at all, I'm going to ensure a pleasurable remainder of the day." She gave him a self-satisfied smirk and departed through the front door. Seconds later they heard the distinctive sound of Disapparation.

Draco crashed onto the couch, sighing heavily, feeling as though he'd spent the entire day fighting Death Eaters, or fighting against a skilled Legillimens.

"How were they?" asked Harry.

"They were wonderful. Hermione and I fought, as usual."

"Did they hear?"

"Of course. I apologized, but still felt bad doing it in front of them."

"I'm sure they understood," said Harry.

"They seemed to."

Silence.

"You still planning on waiting?"

"Of course. You know that."

Harry sighed and stood. "Yes, I know that's your plan. Want to duel?"

Draco looked up at the dark-haired man. "Why does no one want a day off?" Harry said nothing, only grinned. "Yes, fine; let's go." He stood and followed Harry outside.

**ooo **

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it:)


	10. Riddles in the Dark

**Disclaimer: **Don't own it. Wish I did. Sort of...

**Note: **Chapter title taken from Lord of the Rings, my first love.

**ooo**

**Chapter 10 – Riddles in the Dark**

After leaving Malfoy's house, Hermione Apparated to the Ministry. On Saturdays, very few people went to work, but there were enough that she wouldn't be conspicuous. She made her way to her office, but was too distracted to start working right away. The dinner meeting with Malfoy left her confused and uneasy.

Draco had said that she needed to be there, but all she did was sit at the table and eat. When he went to meet with the couple, he didn't ask her to join him, and she found that odd. Then his behavior was confusing. One minute he was yelling at her, the next talking calmly. She had fully expected him to explode on her for the wine and dessert stunt, but instead he had actually laughed about it.

Hermione sighed. Draco Malfoy was indeed a complicated person, far more complicated than she first imagined. All she knew about him was based on her experiences at Hogwarts and then everything she heard about him in the paper and at work. None of it was even remotely good. At school, he'd picked on her and her friends, called her Mudblood, and generally been a spoiled little wimpy brat. After school, he'd been merciless in his work for Voldemort. The first two years, his name was associated with the worst crimes uncovered by the Ministry. In the last two years, his name didn't appear as regularly, and in the months before he turned himself in, it was absent altogether. As she thought back, Hermione realized that she hadn't seen his name in the Prophet for two months before he turned himself in to the Ministry.

She frowned. Was that important? Did it mean something? Hermione shook her head. It would do no good to dwell on him and what made him tick. He was so good at hiding, even behind his own eyes; she didn't think she would ever figure him out. Besides, she had much more important things to dwell on. Namely, learning everything she could about the Death Eaters Malfoy had given them.

Hermione was still flipping through files when six o'clock rolled around. At 6:15, she looked up at her clock and saw that she was late. She hastily put the files away, gathered her bag, and ran to the lobby. Seamus was waiting, and he smiled as she ran toward him.

"Sorry!" she said, out of breath. "I was in the middle of something and lost track of time."

"It's okay, Hermione. Are you ready to go?"

She nodded, still catching her breath. They made their way onto the streets of Muggle London, making small talk as they walked to the restaurant. Seamus stopped after 15 minutes in front of a place that served traditional English food. He opened the door to allow Hermione to enter before him.

Once seated, they perused the menu. Hermione had already had fish that day; in fact, she'd already had an evening meal, since it was dinner time in New Zealand. She chose a salad with a cup of soup; Seamus ordered a steak.

They continued with small talk, but Hermione noticed that there was something bothering her companion.

"Seamus?" she said, once the food had arrived. "Is everything okay?"

He looked at her with a grim expression. "Have you seen today's Prophet?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, why?"

"There was an attack last night, in Berkshire."

"Death Eaters?"

He nodded. "They killed a whole family."

Hermione looked at Seamus, waiting for more; unfortunately, this sort of news was typical for Death Eaters, and she figured he wouldn't mention it unless there was something more involved.

"They targeted Aurors."

She gasped; rarely did Voldemort venture that close to the Ministry, instead preying on Muggles and Muggleborns. Only when he was very angry did he attack trained Aurors.

"Why?" she asked.

"No one knows. We were alerted to the presence of the Dark Mark last night around 11 and six of us went to investigate. We – we found them all, dead."

"Who, Seamus?" asked Hermione, not sure she really wanted the answer.

"The Pruitts. All six of them."

Hermione closed her eyes and took a sad breath.

"But there was something else," Seamus continued. She looked at him. "A short note. From a Death Eater, one we're too familiar with. Lucius Malfoy."

If Hermione's attention had not been fully placed on Seamus' story, it was now completely absorbed by it. "Lucius? What did he say?"

"It's the strangest thing. The note read, 'Return him.' That's it."

"Return who?"

"No one knows! That's what makes it all so strange! The Ministry doesn't have any Death Eaters in Azkaban currently, nor do we really have any good leads. So we were totally stunned at the message."

Hermione was almost certain she knew who 'him' was, but of course said nothing of it to Seamus. Her only thoughts now lay on what would happen when Lucius was not pacified. Would more people be hurt? Or, more likely, killed? She shuddered.

"How is your work these days, Hermione? Seems like you're always there, even weekends now."

"Oh, work is fine. My current assignment is coming along nicely. I just feel like I'm really close to something, so it makes me work harder and sometimes I don't even notice that everyone else has gone home."

"But you shouldn't work so much. You've been working nonstop for a month now; I've noticed. You look like you aren't getting enough sleep or rest."

Hermione gave him a shy smile. "Now, Seamus, that's not very nice to say to a girl, to tell her she's not looking too good."

He smiled. "I didn't mean to say you're not looking good." He blushed a little, and Hermione smiled again. "You look – exquisite tonight. Let's not talk about work anymore, what do you say?"

"Capital idea," she said, anxious to lead her thoughts down a different path.

They spent the rest of the meal in pleasant conversation about friends from Hogwarts. Hermione felt lighter than she had in a very long time. She was able to truly laugh, and for a few hours, forget about the war and the man she'd had dinner with just a few hours before. It felt normal, something she hadn't felt since Malfoy had reentered her life, and she relished the feeling. So much so, that she cautiously accepted an invitation for a second date with Seamus.

After dinner, they walked around Muggle London, watching Muggles move about, oblivious to the fact that a witch and wizard were in their midst. A chill September wind blew, kicking leaves around the empty streets. Lampposts and shop lights burned brightly as they made their way toward Hermione's flat. Seamus bade her goodnight and Disapparated. Hermione stood on the front steps of her building for a few minutes before Disapparating to the Edge.

Hermione was deep in thought, not only about Seamus, but also about the news he'd given her, when she pushed open the front door of Draco's house. She was so deep in thought that she didn't notice that the light in the drawing room was on, and that someone was sitting in the room reading a book.

"You're back," came a voice that made Hermione jump and forced her from her musings. She turned toward the source of the voice and saw Malfoy close his book and stand from the chair where he'd been sitting. He put out the light he'd been using to read and walked toward her.

There was something about the way he moved that scared her. Hermione's heart started racing and her skin went cold. The only light illuminating the room was from the moon and Draco nearly glowed in the pale silver light. His sharp features were shown in stark contrast to the blackness that surrounded him and seemed to come _from_ him.

When he neared her, Draco stopped, leaving only a foot between them. Hermione gulped and instinctively backed away slightly. Draco smirked, sensing her fear.

"Relax, Granger," he said, walking past her and out of the room and up the stairs. When she heard the door to his room close, Hermione let out the breath she had been holding.

Breathe, she told herself. If he wanted to hurt me, he'd have done so before now. Right? Slowly Hermione made her way to her room and fell into an uneasy sleep.

**ooo**

The next day, Draco woke in an awful mood. He tried to convince himself it wasn't because of Hermione's date the night before, but just couldn't completely accomplish it. He wasn't envious – no, no, no – far from it. It was simply the fact that he wasn't in control of something that could potentially affect him and his goals. After all, it was only one date.

But – what if one date turned into more dates? And then they – something more? She'd have to hide everything about what she, he, and Harry were doing from the guy (her date from last night now, but if that didn't work out, it could be someone after him; anyone, really), and what if she wasn't as dedicated as Harry? He trusted Harry not to spill, but Hermione? Could she keep this from someone she cared more and more about as time passed? Would she go back to live in her flat in London? She might completely lose focus on the work she was doing because of him.

Draco scowled and forced himself out of bed. He was grumpy through breakfast, training with Harry, lunch, and then more training. When Harry was around Hermione, Draco left the room and eavesdropped on them in hopes of hearing them talk about her date – and more importantly to him, her commitment to the bloke. Sean? Shingles? Something like that.

Finally, just before dinner, he got his wish. He and Harry came in from training and Draco went directly to his room, and like he had all day, he eavesdropped on their conversation, though not really expecting to learn anything significant.

"Hey, Harry," he heard Hermione say.

"Hey."

"You look tired. How was training?"

"Malfoy was in some mood today. He pushed harder than usual."

"What kind of mood?"

"A bad one, that's all I know." Harry massaged his shoulder, wincing when he hit a tender spot. "I don't want to talk about it though. Tell me about dinner with Seamus last night."

"It was fine. I was planning on discussing it at dinner, actually."

"Oh. Okay. If you want." Draco stopped listening at that point. "Good," he thought, "Finally I'll get to hear something." About her commitment to this project, and that was all he cared about. Really. Now anxious for dinner time to arrive, and the conversation to occur, he went downstairs to begin preparing the meal.

After they were all seated, Harry and Hermione talked about the Weasleys for nearly 15 minutes, effectively driving Draco crazy. He usually went a bit dodgy whenever the Weasleys were brought up, but tonight he was also waiting for details about 'the date.' Because he needed to know where Hermione's priorities lay.

When a few minutes passed in silence, Hermione finally spoke.

"I think we should get a subscription to the Daily Prophet." Draco stared at her hard, annoyed because this had nothing to do with what he wanted. Hermione was looking at the food on her plate, pushing it around but not taking a bite.

"Why?" asked Harry.

"I just think that we need to be aware of what's happening in our world."

"We won't be getting any subscriptions," said Draco with an air of finality.

"Why not?" she asked, looking at him with a blank expression.

"We can't have owls flying out here every day. It will look suspicious."

"To whom? There's no one around for miles!" she protested.

"You can't be too sure. I don't want anything to draw attention to this place."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his apprehension. "Nothing would happen, Malfoy. You're being paranoid."

"No newspaper. You can get all the information about the world when you're at work."

"Well, yes, during the week. But what about weekends?"

"Did something happen, Hermione?" asked Harry, a little concerned at his friend's persistence.

"Yes, actually. Seamus told me about it." Draco's scowl deepened further than it had all day, but he was glad that they were finally getting to the 'date'. "There was an attack Friday night. Death Eaters."

He heard in her voice that it was something that bothered her, but he disregarded it as being her sensitive nature. "Is that all? Death Eaters attack all the time, Granger. We don't exactly need an update every time it happens." He spoke as if to say there was no need to continue the discussion.

"It was different this time," she said, annoyed at him. She looked at Harry. "They attacked Aurors."

Harry's eyes grew wide and his fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Aurors?"

"Yes. And their children."

Harry put his fork down, suddenly not hungry anymore. "That's sick."

Draco knew that Death Eaters were not shy about using such tactics, but he held his tongue. He didn't think they would appreciate his reminder. Still, even he, who had seen numerous crimes and atrocities committed by his peers and then heard them bragged about, was angered by the news. It angered and shamed him that he was in any way associated with the people who had killed children. He too set his fork down.

"Who – who was it?" asked Harry, barely above a whisper.

"Scott and Julie."

Harry let his breath out. "They just had a baby!" he cried, feeling even more sick to his stomach than before.

Hermione saw Draco close his eyes and clench his fist, turning his knuckles white. She frowned a little, looking at his hand. What did he care? He'd probably done even worse things. She shook her head; he was helping Harry now. It would do no good to dwell on Malfoy's crimes.

"There's more," she said. Both Harry and Draco looked at her intently. "They left a note. It said, 'Return him.'"

"What? That's it?" said Harry, incredulously.

"It was signed," said Hermione, turning to look at Draco. When their eyes met, he felt that she was trying to see into him; he thought she might burn his eyes out with her gaze. "'L.M.'"

"Who's – " started Harry. Then he seemed to realize the significance of the initials and he paled, looking at Draco.

"The 'him' in the letter must be Malfoy," said Hermione, still looking at him. Draco was transfixed, unable to look away from her. He felt an awful sinking feeling in his gut as he slowly put the pieces together – his father had been there, had watched those children killed, had likely killed them himself. Finally able to pull his eyes from Hermione's, Draco stood up and rushed outside before he was sick all over the kitchen.

"We knew it was only a matter of time before they started to look for him," said Harry, more to himself than to Hermione. "We – we knew there might be consequences – "

"Harry! How can you say that? How could that be acceptable to you!"

"It's not, Hermione! I didn't know what would happen; I had no idea that they would be so upset about him disappearing. He made it sound like he'd barely be missed."

"Maybe that was true for most of the Death Eaters, but his own _father _would notice when he stopped showing up to meetings!" She put her hands in her hair roughly, staring at her plate. "What are we going to do? This cannot happen anymore; I will not be the cause of the death and pain of other people! It's what I've been fighting to prevent!"

"Hermione, you're not the cause, you know that. It's those evil, sick, monsters, who take disgusting pride in their work."

"But if we weren't here, if you hadn't left – "

"If Malfoy had never come to me at the Ministry, you're right; Scott and his family would be alive. But how many more people would be dead instead? Something happened to him to make him turn over. If that hadn't happened, he wouldn't have walked in, and we wouldn't be sitting here right now. We would be no closer to Voldemort, and there's no way to know what the count would have been. You were supposed to be on his list, remember?"

Hermione recoiled at that thought. Malfoy had been ordered to kill her. Without his change of – heart? – she wouldn't be alive. She shuddered. "But Harry, this can't continue! I won't have anyone else hurt because of what we're doing."

"Hermione, you could leave this moment and nothing would change. You know that it's because of Malfoy and me that all this is happening."

"No, Potter, it's because of me," said Draco, standing in the door. He looked much more pale than usual, even a little green around the edges. "And I'm going to fix it." He strode through the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time. Harry and Hermione heard his door close, then looked at each other.

"What do you think he's going to do?" asked Hermione quietly after a few minutes had passed.

"I have no idea. Nothing stupid, I hope."

"Like what?"

"Like get himself killed."

Harry retired soon after dinner, and Hermione moved to the porch. She took her book with her, but her thoughts were swirling in a chaotic fashion, making it hard for her to concentrate on the words in front of her. Finally she gave up trying to read and let her mind wander. It settled quickly on Malfoy, and she allowed herself to try and make sense of her conflicting emotions where he was concerned.

At times, it seemed impossible to look at him without thinking of what he'd done, to her and countless others. Then, sometimes she would be so caught up in what she was doing, or thinking, or saying, that she could forget _everything._ Or at least, not think about it for awhile. She could forget the fact that he had been the enemy not three months earlier, as she was so focused on her work, and Harry's work, which happened to involve him.

It amazed her that such forgetfulness could happen to her. Granted, she didn't want to constantly fight with him, but she didn't want to be okay with him either. There had to be some in-between, didn't there? A way for her to retain an aloofness from him, but also a form of interaction that didn't require harsh words or wands. Was there such a thing as not friends, but not enemies, and yet not simply acquaintances?

She thought about all the times she'd woken outside, warmed by his cloak. There was something in that small gesture that pierced a part of her heart and told her maybe, just maybe, there was something in him that she could understand. It was a kindness he showed, and she was familiar with kindness. She appreciated and admired it, whenever she saw it, because it was so rare in those dark times.

Every morning, she thought of his kindness and couldn't help but begin the day by tolerating him. And usually by the end of the day, she was considerably less tolerant. She suspected, however, that with each passing day, the level of tolerance was slowly, ever so slowly, increasing.

**ooo**

After closing himself in his room, Draco started pacing furiously. He had to do something to keep his father from looking for him, and more importantly from hurting others in his attempt. He knew Lucius would be furious at the thought of Draco betraying the Dark Lord, and would take it as a betrayal of himself, plus the Malfoy name and everything it stood for. He paced for what felt like an eternity, but finally decided that he would have to appeal directly to his Master.

Draco sat heavily in the chair at his desk and wrote a hurried letter.

_Master,_

_I heard about my father's attack on the Aurors. He is rash. I am working on a project for you, and I do not want him interfering. If the Ministry suspects anything, it could be ruined for me. Everything I do is for you, my Lord. I have not informed you of my actions because I knew even you, with your infinite vision, would suspect me to have gone insane, or worse, to the other side. But it is working; I am getting very close now. Please be patient with me, my Lord. And tell Lucius to keep himself under control. Anger leads to blunders, and I can afford none if I am to succeed._

_Your faithful servant,_

_D.M._

He reread the letter five times, to make sure there was enough praise and arrogance in it to convince the Dark Lord that he was, indeed, working for him still. He didn't know if Voldemort had ordered the attack on the Aurors, but he doubted it; it was not the way he worked. And he certainly would not have tried to find a missing Death Eater in that manner. Draco had to give the Dark Lord no reason to change his opinion that he was still loyal, still working for him, still torturing and still hating.

Draco tied the letter to Bubo's leg and sent her out. He watched her disappear into the night sky, then his eyes glazed over as he continued to stare out the window at nothing. He was snapped back to reality when he heard laughter coming from below him; Harry and Hermione were outside.

He scowled and shut the window, then threw himself on his bed. What a completely rotten day it had been. He had been grumpy and extra irritable, snapping at Harry and Hermione nearly every time he spoke. Then at dinner – the news about his father. Sure, he had considered his father while making plans, but he never imagined he would want to _find_ his son. Probably to torture me, thought Draco bitterly. After all, no one betrays a Malfoy.

And he still hadn't heard a word about her date!

"Arghh!" he yelled, turning onto his other side, glaring at the wall that had dared to exist in front of him. 'What do I care about their stupid date?' he thought crossly. He couldn't even stand the girl! Okay, that was not entirely true, but right now he really meant it.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered. It was just a date; nothing more. And he didn't even care! He refused to care. He had made a pact with himself that he would not care about her, no matter what. It was too dangerous. In the end – well, he couldn't think about that. Not when he was already in an awful mood.

Growling, Draco got off the bed and grabbed a book off its shelf. He returned to the bed and forced himself to concentrate on the words and pushed his thoughts aside.

After an hour or so, Draco put the book down and closed his eyes. He should sleep; tomorrow would be long and hard, as his days always were. But, first things first. He left his room and went downstairs, passing Harry's closed door and Hermione's open door as he walked. Draco found Hermione outside, reading in a chair.

"Go to bed," he grumbled at her.

She looked up at him over the top of her book and frowned. "And why should I do that?"

"Because. It's time."

"I am still reading, as you might perceive."

He glared at her. "I don't care."

She considered him for a moment. "I don't think I will, just now." She looked back at her book, but then said, eyes still glued to the page, "You're not quite so green as you were."

He scoffed. "Since when do you care?"

"I don't," she said airily.

"I'm fine."

"You weren't. That's all I said."

"Leave it. Go to bed."

"I'm not tired," she stated matter-of-factly.

Draco scowled at her. "Fine." He turned and went back into the house.

Two hours later – _two_! – she was asleep, and Draco was finally able to go to sleep himself. He was still in a foul mood when he went out to her, muttering under his breath about anything and everything that had wronged him that day. When he saw her, sound asleep, the book held open in her lap, his scowl lessened briefly, then doubled. He moved Hermione to the swing and tucked her in with his cloak, scowling as he did so, but careful to keep his mood out of his actions so he would not wake her.

When he finally settled himself into bed, he let himself relax. Tomorrow couldn't possibly be worse than today, he thought, feeling his body numb with coming sleep.

Draco was awakened the next morning by a tapping sound. He peeled his eyes open and turned to find the source of the tapping. Bubo was waiting impatiently outside his window. Draco slowly arose from his bed and let her in. There was a letter attached to her leg and his heart jumped when he realized who it was from. Now fully awake, Draco hurried to untie the letter.

_Little Malfoy_

_Your father's actions have been dealt with. I do not accept being left out of your plans. You obey me. Never forget that. I am, however, quite intrigued. Keep me informed of your progress. Oh, and before I send my loyal followers after your blood, do tell me what it is you are up to. Leave nothing out. I will know, you know I will know. Remember that your Mother is often left alone now, with you – gone – and your father so busy doing my bidding._

Draco paled at the mention of his mother. The Dark Lord was ever crafty and resourceful in ensuring that his loyal followers still followed. The letter was signed only with an impression of the Dark Mark. Draco crumpled the letter and threw it across the room, burning it to ash with a quick _'Incendio!' _before it hit the floor. He scowled; he would have to give up something of what he was doing, but he'd already planned for this scenario. He quickly pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and scribbled furiously.

_Master,_

_Thank you for your show of faith in me. You will not be disappointed. I press on, knowing that my success will further our cause and strike a heavy blow to the Muggle-lovers._

_Harry Potter has been missing now for a few weeks. I became aware, through my contacts and persuasive interrogation techniques, that he intended to strike out on his own. I am trailing him and feeding him false information and leads. He is currently in Moscow, waiting to hear from a contact who does not exist. I will pose as the contact and further lead him astray. As I go, I am watching his movements and everyone he comes in contact with. I believe there is a traitor among your most loyal, and I intend to find him and kill him, then bring Potter to you. But I must wait until the traitor surfaces._

_Again, I thank you for your trust. My years of unflinching loyalty have afforded me this trust, and I do not take it lightly. However, I know you do not accept mere words as tokens. I will keep you informed and send you tangible proof of my continued loyalty soon._

_Faithful until death,_

_D.M._

Draco read this letter through multiple times as well as he had the previous one. It was critical that he use the right words and phrases to cast any suspicion off himself. When he finished, he dressed and went downstairs with the letter in hand. Harry and Hermione were eating breakfast, talking quietly.

"Morning, Malfoy," said Harry.

Draco nodded, then handed the letter to Harry.

"What's this?" he asked, looking at it.

"Just read it," said Draco, fixing himself a plate.

Harry's eyes widened as he read. "Malfoy – I don't understand – what _is_ this?"

"I told you I would fix it, didn't I?"

"Yes, but – how does this fix anything?" Hermione took the letter from Harry and she too read it.

"When I orchestrated all of this, I tried to think of every possibility." Draco sat across from Harry and Hermione, talking primarily to Harry. "One of the first things I thought of was the fact that my disappearance would not go unnoticed by the Dark Lord. It was too obvious. This is the contingency plan I developed for when he demanded to know what had happened to me."

"A contingency?" asked Hermione.

"Yes."

"So this is what you came up with last night? This letter?" asked Harry.

"No. I have already written him, and received his reply this morning. This is my second letter to him."

Hermione's eyed widened. "You're writing to him?"

"I am now," he said casually. "But I knew this would happen eventually."

"How can this work? I mean, I'm not in Moscow."

"I've already worked it all out, I did ages ago. It will take me a few months to track you before I learn the identity of the traitor. All the while, I will feed the Dark Lord information about you and the traitor without ever leaving England."

"What's this tangible evidence you intend to send?"

"Pictures. Of you, meeting at night with a dark, hooded figure in the woods. I will play the role of the traitor, you will be yourself, and Granger will play me and take the pictures. There are woods on the Western edge of my property."

"And you've already thought of all of this."

"Of course. I have many contingency plans for various scenarios that might arise."

"I think we should discuss them," said Hermione.

"There are dozens; it would be a waste of time."

"Says you," she replied. "What if they involve me? Or Harry?"

"Of course they involve you. I have plans for the events of your capture, injury, betrayal, and death, to name a few."

"I would never betray Harry," said Hermione fiercely.

"No, of course not," Draco said, giving her a hard look. "But you would not think twice about betraying me. I have to be prepared for all possible events."

"Who's the traitor you speak of?" Harry asked, still focused on the letter.

Draco smirked. "Why, me, of course."

Harry frowned, but Hermione was looking at him with an expression of clarity.

"You're throwing him off the scent by putting in his mind the idea of someone betraying him, and you're saying that you intend to find that person, but all the while it's really you, and you're not really doing anything."

"Your rambling is dizzying, Granger. But you have the general idea of things."

"You're really betraying Voldemort." It was a question, but at the same time, it was a statement of realization, as if she just now understood what was really going on.

Draco looked deep into her eyes as she stared at him with an expression of confusion. "And some people said you weren't the brightest witch in our class."

"Malfoy," said Harry, warningly.

Draco put up his hands to indicate he would back off. Hermione was still staring at him with that odd look. "What?" he said, when it looked like she wasn't going to quit.

She seemed to snap out of a trance and she blinked. "I just – I don't know, I guess I didn't really realize the implications of what you're doing. Why, Malfoy?"

He shook his head. "We have had this conversation. I've given you my answer."

"Your island."

"Yes."

"Now what?" asked Harry, before they could start bickering, as they usually did.

"Nothing changes," said Draco. "We continue our training, Granger continues her job, and I periodically send the Dark Lord updates of my progress. In a week or two we'll do the pictures." He stood and cleared his plate. "And after giving it much thought, I still insist we don't get a subscription to the newspaper. Too risky."

Harry nodded. "Shall we begin then our daily dose of beating each other within an inch of our lives?"

"Yes; soon. I will send this letter in a few days. Since we're supposed to be in Russia, I have to delay my responses to him for the appropriate amount of time it would take an owl to fly from there to here, doubled. I wanted to tell you, Harry, because should there ever be an occasion where it comes up, you needed to know. I don't foresee that happening, but just in case."

He turned with a flourish and returned to his room.

"I still don't trust him," said Hermione.

Harry sighed. "I know. You don't really have to, I guess. But Hermione, I do trust him."

"And I trust you. So that means that I am indirectly trusting him."

"We put trust in him every day we're here because every day he could kill us, or worse, turn us over to Voldemort. He's been nothing but upfront with both of us about this whole matter."

"Except for the reasons he's doing all this."

"Well, yes. You're right. Besides that."

She paused to think. She didn't know if she would ever trust him, despite the things he had done for her and Harry, and the things he was doing. There was too much standing between them, namely that huge wall she'd built of him in her mind. She was pretty certain he had a similar wall built around his image, his concept, of her, too. Trust would come slowly, if at all, and it would be with one brick at a time falling from those walls.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thanks as always! And quite little note: i love all the speculation about who the two people are from last chapter. Alas, we won't see them again for a little while. So, the question will continue unanswered for now. Gotta keep you coming back, right:)

And thank you - **thank you **- for all the lovely reviews and comments! They make my day, and I mean that. You all rock!


	11. Potions

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, and blah-blah-blah.

**Note: **30 reviews for chapter 10! All time high! Thank you to everyone who dropped a line! Sorry it took so long to get this chapter posted. Real Life got crazy last week, what with two of my best friends moving to Austalia (from the US). Anyway, hope to get chapter 12 out soon to make up for it.

**ooo**

**Chapter 11 - Potions**

Another two weeks passed in the same manner – Hermione worked all the time, Harry and Draco trained all the time, and they barely saw each other.

On the Friday of the second week, Hermione was sitting at her desk at the end of the day, looking through the list of Death Eater information Malfoy had given them months ago. A movement caught her eye and she looked up to see Seamus walking toward her. Since their first date, they had barely seen each other, only passing with slightly bigger smiles in the hallway, mostly on his part.

"Afternoon, Hermione," he said when he reached her desk.

"Hello, Seamus," she said brightly.

"I was wondering if I could cash in on that date tomorrow. What do you say to lunch in the park?"

She smiled. "That sounds lovely, I would like that."

He smiled finally; one of those big smiles, and it was obvious he'd been nervous about asking her out again. "Excellent. Are you coming in to work tomorrow?"

"Yes, I've got some things to finish up tomorrow morning."

"How about we meet by the Queen's Memorial in the park around noon?"

"Okay, noon it is. Should I bring anything?" she asked.

"No. We'll just have lunch at a café."

She smiled. "Tomorrow, then."

Seamus had been on his way out when he stopped by Hermione's desk, and so they walked to the lobby together, saying goodbye at the Apparation point. Hermione let Seamus think she was leaving for the night, but as she still had much work to do, she sighed and returned to her desk.

She stayed late at work again, poring through files the Ministry had on Death Eaters that were on the list from Malfoy. The Ministry didn't even know that a majority of the people on her list were Death Eaters, but the files were still helpful in some ways. At ten minutes to 11:00 pm, all the magical lights in the Ministry flickered, indicating to anyone still in the building that in ten minutes, the lights would go off for the night. Hermione rubbed her tired eyes and returned the files to their homes. She made her way to the lobby and Disapparated to the Edge, as she had come to call it.

Harry and Malfoy weren't in the house, and Hermione slowly climbed the stairs and was asleep two minutes after falling into her bed.

The next morning, Hermione slept late. She allowed herself the luxury of not rushing; she woke slowly, showered slowly, dressed slowly, then descended the stairs slowly. As she entered the kitchen, a strange smell hit her nose, and she found Malfoy standing over a large cauldron on the stove. Harry was at the table, reading.

"Morning, Harry!" she said brightly.

Hermione went to stand next to the stove and peered into the cauldron. A dark blue liquid was slowly boiling in large, Snitch-sized glops. Hermione stuck her finger into the warm liquid and then put her finger in her mouth.

"Mmm… Needs more pimph weed," she said casually. Then she fixed herself something for breakfast and sat down with Harry, all the while unaware that Malfoy was staring at her. After taking a few bites, she felt his stare, and looked up to see him gaping open-mouthed at her.

"Can I help you with something, Malfoy?" she asked, breezily.

"You just tasted an unknown potion, and from the looks of it, you didn't give one speck of thought to the potential consequences."

She grinned. "Pepper-Up Potion. Characteristic mixture of citrus, smoke and paint smells. Exhibits a dark navy blue color before the addition of newt-tail. Third year, Malfoy."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "The Ileus Expono Potion. Exhibits the same mixture of smells as Pepper-Up due to the similar ingredients. However, a fourth scent, of candle wax, is discernable only at certain temperatures. Also adopts a navy blue color in the process of brewing. And I'm sure you know what _it _does, don't you?"

Hermione nodded, looking slightly amused. The potion, which was a nasty one used only for malicious purposes, turned the intestine inside out. It was highly painful, and usually used for Dark purposes. "I am familiar with the Ileus Expono Potion and its less than pleasant effects, even when taken in small doses. However, Pepper-Up Potion gives a particular sensation when the fumes are inhaled directly; the Expono does not. A slight tingling sensation in the nose and sinuses manifests, causing the person to want to sneeze; it's the pepper. Therefore, I knew it was Pepper-Up, not the Expono." She gave Draco a satisfied smirk and resumed her breakfast.

Draco calmly put down the knife he'd been using and turned to face her. "When modifying Ileus Expono to remove its side effects, such as the characteristic wax smell at certain temperatures, or to make it effective when used externally, black pepper is added in the third step, while stirring counterclockwise four and a half times."

"Modified Expono, after the pepper is added, turns violet; your potion is still blue."

"It turns violet _after _the addition of the newt-tail at the very end of step three, which I am only just now chopping." Draco pointed to the half-chopped newt-tail on his cutting board.

"Only after the leech juice is added and the potion allowed to simmer for six hours is the Ileus Expono at full strength. In its current form, all that it would do is turn my hair pink."

Two pairs of eyes flicked to Hermione's perfectly brown head. Draco scowled at her. "Modified Expono does not change hair color at this stage. It would cause a small, star-shaped rash to appear on your right wrist."

Hermione looked at her wrist, then held it up for him to see. "No rash." She felt triumphant at last.

Draco looked intently at her. "My _point_, Granger, is that you shouldn't go around heedlessly tasting potions that are not of your own making." She started to speak, but he cut her off. "Furthermore, do not sample _any_ potions I brew unless I give you explicit permission. I create and modify potions myself, and if I were brewing something of my own creation, there would be no way you could guess its ingredients, much less its effects."

Hermione's eyes widened. "I'm not stupid, Malfoy! I knew it was safe. I wouldn't just blunder about tasting unknown liquids!" She paused, and looked at him, unable to hide her curiosity. "You, uh, create your own potions?"

"Yes."

"How?" she asked, her face full of excitement. Gone was the spirit of competition and animosity that had been present only moments before. In their place was classic Hermione: inquisitive and eager to learn.

Harry, who had been silently watching the back and forth exchange between Draco and Hermione, laughed out loud, causing the other two to look at him.

"Sorry, Hermione. It's just – your face!"

For a brief moment, she thought she might have been wrong about the potion and something abnormal was going on with her face. Then she understood that he was laughing at her quick switch in attitude , she narrowed her eyes at him. "What _about_ my face, Harry?" she asked, in a voice that said, don't you dare say another word or you'll regret it.

Harry stopped laughing and returned to looking pointedly at his plate.

Draco silently stirred his potion. After a few minutes passed in silence, he spoke. "It's simple, really. I've studied potion ingredients themselves. Their characteristics; behavior; basic properties. You can use the information to manipulate the ingredients in such a way as to achieve a desired end. I intend to adjust this Pepper-Up potion to last through an entire training session, allowing Harry to remain as alert as possible."

Harry watched as Hermione stared at the back of Draco's head, not really seeing what was in front of her. He knew his friend desperately wanted to ask more questions – he could almost see the smoke coming out of her ears. Probably hundreds of questions were streaming through her mind as she watched, unseeing, as Draco stirred his potion. Then he saw her eyes focus on Draco, narrow, and finally relax; a wave of sadness passed through them. She sighed heavily.

"Oh," she said, sounding uninterested. Harry frowned; that wasn't what he expected.

Draco caught her tone and turned to face her. He was going to say something, but Hermione was already standing.

"I'm going to work," she said, addressing Harry.

"Why?" he asked. "We have the day off."

"I have something to finish this morning for next week."

"Will you be back for lunch?" Harry asked, hopefully.

"Well, no," she said, fiddling with her bag. "I'm meeting Seamus for lunch."

"Oh," said Harry, obviously disappointed. "Well, can we maybe spend some time, just me and you, tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Of course, Harry!" She hugged him goodbye and left quickly.

The atmosphere in the kitchen sank by a few degrees after Hermione was gone. Harry had noticed that when Hermione said she'd be meeting Seamus, Draco's jaw clenched. And now, he was meticulously, methodically chopping ginger stems into identical portions. Every movement of his wrist was deliberate, his grip on the silver knife perfectly placed. Harry looked at Draco's eyes; they were intensely focused on his task, not wavering in the slightest. The skin between the stormy grey eyes was furrowed, further evidence of extreme concentration.

If Harry hadn't seen Draco chop potion ingredients before, he wouldn't have thought twice about his current methods. But he had, and he knew Draco Malfoy could perfectly chop ingredients with his eyes closed, one arm tied behind his back. Harry also noticed the lack of characteristic sneer at the display of friendship between Hermione and himself, as though Draco were oblivious.

Harry started to wonder if there was something going on inside Draco's head related to Hermione. After everything he'd been told, all of Draco's secrets, he came to the conclusion that it would be possible for something to grow, if not between them, then at least on Draco's part. Though Draco was adamant that such a thing was not possible, Harry remembered the flash of uncertainty and fear that passed through Draco's eyes when he'd said it. He seemed not to completely trust himself where Hermione was concerned, which was the most likely reason for his coldness and seeming disinterest in being civil. Yet there were times when it was so _obvious _that he cared about her; Harry wasn't sure how Draco reconciled the two in his head.

Once Draco was finished chopping, his body and mood relaxed. He added the ingredients to the boiling pot and turned to Harry.

"Potter. I am not the most astute when it comes to people's moods, but I felt something shift in our conversation. Can you tell me what was the matter with her?" he asked.

"I think," started Harry, cautious as to how to proceed exactly. "Knowing Hermione, that she really wanted to ask you to teach her about making potions and all that. After she asked you about a hundred questions, of course."

Draco looked into the now rolling potion. "Oh."

"And she realized that she would not be able to ask such a thing."

Draco shrugged. "She could ask."

"Would you do it?"

"There's no time," he said stiffly, stirring once.

"But if there was time, would you?"

Draco looked at Harry, an unreadable expression on his face. He seemed to think seriously about his answer. There were many things that would be different for them if there was time. They would not be where they were, doing what they were doing. And if he'd never made the offer to Harry, then Hermione would not have learned of his affinity for Potions, and would not have anything to ask in the first place. However, things were the way they were, and she did not ask. If she _had_ asked, and there _was_ time, his first instinct would be to say no, despite the niggling part of him that would scream for him to say yes.

"Perhaps," was all he said.

Harry was surprised. He had expected Draco to say no, and when he didn't, Harry was forced to think even more if perhaps there was something spinning in Draco's head.

**ooo**

Hermione met Seamus in St. James Royal Park by the Queen's Memorial. He smiled warmly and greeted her with a friendly hug. Then he held out an arm, which she accepted, and led her through the park, chatting amiably. Hermione had to force herself, at first, to pay attention to Seamus; her mind kept wandering back to potions ingredients and the many exciting possibilities that existed in a blank piece of parchment.

Eventually, the feeling passed, and she was able to focus completely on lunch with Seamus.

They made their way to an outdoor café in the park, where they ordered sandwiches, chips and ice cream for lunch. They ate in comfort, enjoying the crisp autumn air that was just beginning to hint of the coming winter.

After lunch, the pair continued through the park, finally stopping to rest on a bench under a large shade tree. After a moment of comfortable silence, Seamus nervously approached a subject he'd been anxious about and until then too nervous to broach.

"Anything on Harry?" he asked quietly.

Hermione sighed heavily. "No. It's been a month now." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Seamus, but I really don't want to talk about Harry. How's your work? I heard you have a new assignment, but I haven't heard what it is."

Seamus frowned. "Yes, I do actually. Since – " Harry, he started to say, but stopped just in time. "Well, it seems Shacklebolt feels that the Malfoy family is important enough to warrant the efforts of one whole Auror – me. Previously, each member of the family was handled by a different Auror, as one among their other cases. I took all three of their files from the other Aurors and my job is now the entire Malfoy family."

Hermione frowned. "All three of them? Why?"

"With the attack two weeks ago, the Ministry wants to know who Lucius wanted returned. And why there have been no further attacks or references to 'him'. Was the message intended for someone at the Ministry who would understand its meaning? If so, was 'he' returned, as Lucius demanded? The implications of this alone are – staggering.

"Then there's Draco – the slimy git. He could probably be the sole focus of an Auror, but he's been quiet lately. The Ministry believes he's working on something big." Seamus gave a slight chuckle. "And I'm supposed to figure out what that something is. Ha! With NO leads, not even a _peep_ out of him in months." He shook his head. It was obvious to Hermione that Seamus' assignment was proving frustrating and fruitless because Draco was no longer causing trouble. "What about Narcissa?" she asked.

"She's – nothing. I keep her tailed, but all she does is stay at home. She never leaves; I suppose she has house elves do her shopping. Her sister comes to visit her sometimes."

Hermione shuddered at the thought. "Bellatrix." Narcissa reminded Hermione of an ice queen, pale, beautiful, and cold; a harsh winter's morning. Bellatrix was the opposite, though pale, she was dark and cruel. In all the times Hermione had seen the two women, Narcissa regarded her as less than human, holding her head up as if to catch raindrops in her nose; Bellatrix had taunted and glared and tried to kill her. Hermione would not wish to meet either woman in a dark alley.

Seamus shook his head. "No, the other one."

Hermione blinked, astonished. "Andromeda Tonks? Really?"

"Yes. I find it odd, really. Tonks was disowned from the Black family for marrying a Muggleborn."

"I know; it _is_ odd. There's nothing else from her?"

"No. Absolutely nothing of interest. Of course, there could be something going on inside the house, but we can't get in there. I would give her less attention, but Kingsley feels she deserves the attention we're paying her. Seriously, the woman only leaves her home with Lucius, and they don't utter a word to each other from doorstep to carriage. Narcissa Malfoy is probably the biggest mystery of the three. I mean, we know father and son are evil, and, well, they're Death Eaters. But the mother – unpredictable."

"It sounds – fascinating."

"Tailing Lucius and trying to catch a wind of Draco's doings – it's tiring, and in the two weeks I've had the assignment, there's been absolutely nothing. Only Narcissa has been at all interesting."

"I'm sorry it's such a difficult task. Do let me know if there's anything I can do."

Seamus nodded and smiled. "Thanks, Hermione. Hey, enough work talk. Let's rent a boat, or bikes, or something."

After three more hours with Seamus in the park, Hermione returned to the Edge. Her mind was muddled with thoughts about Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius, and Seamus himself. The conversation they'd had about the Malfoy family was more interesting to her than anything else they'd talked about. Granted, most of their interaction was about nothing, and that was nice too. To think and talk about absolutely nothing that mattered. She felt refreshed as she moved through the empty house and up to her room. The refreshed feeling didn't last very long, however. As soon as Hermione was alone and she let herself think about her day, she felt a heavy weight on her mind. Before she and Seamus had parted, he asked her a question that she had dreaded, and hated to answer. Now it was bothering her, not only what he asked, but what her answer had been. She was quiet all through dinner, and sat, distracted, with Harry and Malfoy in the drawing room. She was biting her lip, frowning, and only barely pretending to read when Harry disrupted her.

"Hermione! Earth to Hermione!"

She snapped her head up to look at him, and she saw that both he and Draco were looking at her expectantly. "What?"

Harry chuckled and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Never mind," said Harry lightly. "It wasn't important." Then, "Hey, how was your lunch with Seamus? You were gone all day practically."

"Oh, fine," she said distractedly.

"Is that really all you're going to give me, Hermione? I can tell you've been distracted all evening. Is everything okay?" Harry asked.

Draco sat very still, even controlling his breathing so as not to make any sound whatsoever. He hoped they would forget he was in the room

Hermione sighed. "I just – I don't – I shouldn't." "Shouldn't what?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm torn."

Harry moved to sit next to Hermione on the couch and put a comforting hand on her arm. "Talk to me, Hermione. What's going on?"

She looked into his concerned green eyes and Draco's wish was granted; she completely forgot he was in the room. "We had a nice time. Lunch was lovely, and then we rented a boat and went out on the lake. Then, as we were saying goodbye, he asked me if I felt anything for him, and the truth is, Harry, that I don't. I don't really feel anything for anyone. I barely feel something for you, and you're my best friend. I've been rigidly set on this course for so many years that I've forgotten how to let other things matter."

"Hermione, I know how much you've sacrificed for me. I don't like it that your entire life is completely on hold for me, but you were too stubborn to listen when I told you not to follow this path. Look at Ron – he got hurt; badly. And now he's finally recovering, getting back to normal, but it's been a year. He hasn't asked about returning to work, at least not before I left, and I don't think he's going to. Working at the Ministry was getting us nowhere in the fight against Voldemort. If he asked to return, to help me, I'm not sure what I would say. I don't want anything bad to happen to him. You are here because I know you're not going to be in direct danger, but Ron would want to fight, like me, and he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"But you've changed your whole life to work with me, to work for this cause. We thought working at the Ministry would be helpful to the Order, but there was so much – other stuff – that got in the way. Don't think I haven't noticed that you weren't happy. When Malfoy came to me, I saw a way to give you something better. I hope I didn't make a mistake."

"Harry, I would do it all the same again. I don't regret a single day. Sometimes it's just hard, realizing that so many people try to continue living a normal life and I can't. I haven't thought about – well, love, or romance, or any of that – since Ron, and that was years ago. All my efforts are focused on this War, and Voldemort, and you… there's no room or energy for anything else, especially romance. And Seamus is a really great guy, someone any girl would be lucky to be with. But I just can't. Not right now."

"That's not good!" he pleaded. "Even I haven't pushed love out of my life."

"But you've _always_ had Ginny; and I always had Ron. Until, well, I didn't. And then I just felt alone, so incredibly alone, because I'd always counted on that happening, on that part working out like it was supposed to. When it didn't, I dove into becoming an Auror, and learning, and fighting, until I thought I could drive that pain away. I was finally starting to heal when – " Hermione stopped abruptly and turned to Draco, finally remembering his presence.

He looked up from his book, the same page he'd been on since she and Harry had started talking, and looked at her quizzically. "Yes?"

Hermione's only response was to glare at him; then she turned back to Harry. "Since you know what." Harry nodded.

"Since that, I'm just numb. Once all this is over, if it's _ever_ over, I plan to finally un-pause my life."

"But Hermione," said Harry kindly, and somewhat impatiently. "You don't have to wait! I don't want you to! There's no telling how long this will go on, and I know how much you hurt, how much you try to keep me, and Ron, and Ginny, from seeing. If you allow yourself to start living a little now, I know it will help you get through this darkness. It's sure helped me."

Hermione cocked her head to one side and said, with a small grin on her lips, "Are you saying you want me to keep seeing Seamus?"

"I want you to be open to whatever might happen," he said cryptically.

"And what is that?"

"Nothing, just; something could come along, is all, and you shouldn't refuse it just because of me and the War."

Hermione chuckled bitterly. "What are the chances of that happening? Nothing's going to come along for me. I work 16 hours a day and come home to you, my best friend who's married, and – to him." She scrunched up her nose in displeasure at the thought. Her back was to him, so she didn't see Draco narrow his eyes at her over the top of his book. "When would I ever have time to _meet_ someone, much less, get to know him, date him, and like him?"

"I don't know, Hermione. I'm not pushing, I'm just saying – be open."

She shook her head. "I can be open, Harry. I'm just not going to hold my breath, or try to force something. These things shouldn't be forced in the first place, much less because I'm feeling a little low. But I will take your advice and be open to – whatever. Though I'm not looking for anything. Okay? ."

"Okay," he said, "That sounds better. I truly hope something goes looking for you, though."

They were interrupted by a loud tapping sound on the window and all three of them looked to see a brown owl waiting to be admitted. Harry let the bird in and untied the letter, releasing the owl again.

"It's from Ginny. Excuse me." Harry left without another word or look.

Hermione sat frowning at the space Harry had just occupied. Draco watched her.

"Granger," he said, after he was sure she'd gnaw her lip raw.

"Hmm?" she said, looking at him with a lost expression.

"I've got some books on potions ingredients you could borrow. If you want."

Hermione's eyes lit up, and Draco found he much preferred them that way over the deep sadness that had filled them moments earlier.

"Really?"

"Sure," he said, shrugging. "I barely even need them anymore."

She continued chewing her lip. "Uhm, thanks?" she said, hesitantly.

"Whatever. Just don't lose them. Or mess them up. Or fold the spine. Or fold the pages. Or write in them – only I write in my books."

"Malfoy, you forget who you're talking to. I daresay your books will be in better condition when I return them." She paused, eyes sparkling. "_IF_ I return them"

"When," he said firmly, a hint of amusement – just a hint – lacing his eyes.

She smiled and without a word, left for the porch.

**ooo **

**A/N: **Thank you for reading! I can't wait to hear what each and every one of you thought about this chapter... :)


	12. Cry Havoc

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter! Never will!

**Note: **I'll give a big huge shout-out to anyone who tells me in a review what the title of this chapter is from. :) And I hope to get chapter 13 posted next week. In the meantime, have a great Thanksgiving!

**ooo**

**Chapter 12 – Cry Havoc**

September casually rolled into October and the leaves on the trees started changing into the dazzling jewel-tones of autumn. At Hake's Edge, the weeks passed as they usually did – Hermione worked endlessly; Harry and Draco trained. The men rarely caught sight of their third housemate, and they both, for different reasons, wished it weren't the case.

Harry missed his friend dearly. He had only Draco for company, and though they were rapidly becoming friends, it was a friendship of necessity and convenience. With Ron and Hermione, he could just be himself. He could be quiet, or loud, or silly, or anything in the world he wanted and nothing would change. Theirs was a predictable relationship, something in which Harry found great comfort. Since leaving the Ministry, Harry had enjoyed very little of that comfort, and because of the current circumstances, it could only come from Hermione. He missed Ron's contagious laugh and easy sense of humor. Lately, he was missing Hermione's sharp wit and thoughtful discussions, even though she lived across the hall from him. He hadn't had a decent conversation with her in weeks, and was starting to brood.

Draco enjoyed sparring with Hermione. She was very intelligent, well read, and thoughtful. On two occasions to date, they had debated the moral and ethical implications of famous literary works. These debates became heated, but never vicious. Both he and Hermione were able to discuss the issues without letting things become personal. They conversed naturally; Hermione took one position, and Draco assumed the role of devil's advocate. Usually, he agreed with Hermione, but would never have admitted it; his pride and the somewhat less than friendly edge to the interaction on these two occasions kept him from such an admission.

It had been a few weeks since their last discussion, which had been about the classic Crime and Punishment, and Draco was itching for a new debate; he'd just finished For Whom the Bell Tolls. A moral and ethical debate would happen soon, though he didn't know it. It would not be about a book, it would be heated, but it would also become very personal, for both of them.

It was a Wednesday, just two weeks into October. There was nothing special about this particular Wednesday. Draco and Harry came in from training in the evening to clean up and eat dinner. Harry went directly upstairs, but Draco wandered through the house, ending in the drawing room where he was surprised to find Hermione sitting in a chair. She had an edition of the Daily Prophet on her lap, and she was staring in front of her at nothing at all. As Draco looked closer, he saw dry tear streaks running down her face.

He wasn't the kind of guy to be moved by tears; only his mother's tears could affect him. So it wasn't Hermione's tear-stained face that caused his stomach to twist into knots. It was her eyes. They were empty, but full of sadness at the same time. Something about their far-away gaze unsettled him.

"Granger? You're never home this early." It wasn't the most insightful thing to say, nor the most helpful; but he wasn't that kind of guy either. It was, nonetheless, true. Hermione said nothing; she only blinked to indicate she heard him. Then again, she may have just blinked. Then Draco said something he didn't think he'd ever said before in his life. He'd never said it because it would mean he was thinking about someone else, and he very rarely did that. "Are you okay?"

Hermione turned to him then, her eyes still distant, but now searching his. She shook her head and turned to look out the window.

Draco waited for her to say something, but she didn't. "What's wrong?" he asked, again speaking a combination of words never before uttered by his mouth in sincerity.

Hermione still said nothing, but absently handed him the newspaper. It didn't take long to find what she'd been upset by. On the front page was a large picture of a disturbing scene – Aurors and Ministry officials wandering over a street corner amid cars and wreckage. The article, written by Rita Skeeter, had this title: "Death Eaters Go On Massive Killing Spree." Draco looked up at Hermione before reading the article, but received no acknowledgement from her.

Returning to the paper, Draco read.

_Nearly 200 Muggles were killed last night as Death Eaters went on a nasty killing spree. The murders took place throughout London and surrounding towns. There seems to have been no pattern or purpose to the killings. Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour indicated in a meeting with the press that his foremost mission as of today is finding out what was behind the murders. Some interviewed believe it may have something to do with an attack nearly one month ago on a family of Aurors. Lucius Malfoy, known Death Eater, made certain demands that, according to a trusted Ministry employee, were not fulfilled. Could this be the retribution implied by his message?_

_Lucius Malfoy was reported to be seen at more than one of the murder scenes, though no letters from him have been reported found. Of all the Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy has been most thoroughly sought of late, as his son, the infamous Draco Malfoy, seems to have disappeared. The… (continued on pages 2-7)._

Draco didn't need to finish the article to know it would go on to list both his and his father's crimes, in detail, with pictures and diagrams to provide emphasis. They ran these stories periodically to get the public stirred up against the Death Eaters and Dark side. Then the article would compare him to his father, noting that the son had surpassed the father, in both status and cruelty, to which the author would write some snarky comment about his father becoming weak. Draco scowled; his father was many things, but he was not weak.

He looked at Hermione, who was still staring out the window.

"Granger." Draco wasn't sure what to say next. His thoughts were focused on the fact that this wasn't exactly unusual news, or extraordinary in any way. The sad fact was that Death Eaters were ruthless, evil people who cared nothing about anything except themselves and in some cases, their Master. He knew it would be cruel, however, to simply dismiss the story, and in turn, her feelings, as it had so clearly upset her. But he'd never cared about peoples' feelings before. They made you weak; his father had beat that into him at a very young age. He was not weak either.

When he said nothing more, Hermione looked at him. She was unreadable. "You said my name," she stated blankly.

He was nervous! What?

"Uhm, I don't want to sound – insensitive, but this isn't exactly – something new."

To his surprise, Hermione didn't scream at him. No, that would have been bearable in its predictability. Instead, it seemed as if the story in the paper had been the last drop in a vast ocean of pain and loss inside her that had been near to overflowing for a long time. What happened caused that ocean to spill over. When she spoke, there was ice in her voice.

"I know that, Malfoy," she spat. She shook her head. "You people disgust me."

"What people?" he asked. He honestly wanted to know what could rattle Hermione. Since the beginning of their efforts, she'd seemed unflappable, steady, an anchor. He even found himself drawing on her strength at times. When he asked the question, he wanted the answer. He had no idea that he was under attack, and that he had already lost.

"Mindless sheep. Cowards," she muttered, scowling fiercely enough to rival his own.

"You're not making any sense."

"I'm making perfect sense, if you would just open your head and listen," she snapped.

"Just say it," he said, impatiently. "Stop dancing around whatever's on your mind and just spit it out. I'm in no mood to figure out riddles."

That was, as Draco would learn over the course of the next few minutes, the wrong thing to say. Now Draco saw fire in her eyes.

"Death Eaters. Mindless sheep. You're promised power and the world at your feet, so you follow your Dark Lord blindly, doing everything he commands, killing freely. You kill Muggles – Muggles, Malfoy!" Hermione jumped up and started pacing furiously. "They're defenseless! So you choose to attack Muggles. It's just sick. People who derive pleasure from the torture and killing of those who cannot fight back are cowards. You prey on the weak because it makes you feel strong. And you attack Aurors in their sleep. Never in broad daylight where there's a chance at a fair fight. I mean, you kill _children_, for Merlin's sake! What can this possibly accomplish for your cause?"

As Hermione ranted, Draco couldn't help but get angry. She was lumping him in with all the Death Eaters, and for some reason that he couldn't think about right now, he resented it. What did _she_ know about _him_? Nothing. Granted, it was true that he _was _a Death Eater, only he'd never grouped himself with the other of the Dark Lord's followers. At first, it was because he knew he was smarter than all of them, and he considered himself just slightly better than them. He would rise above them. Then, after Hermione's parents, when everything changed, he started to despise what it meant to be a Death Eater. The killing, the torture, the destruction; as his heart slowly changed, so did his tolerance for what the Death Eaters did.

"Some of those Muggles killed yesterday were people I knew! The doctor, from Hertfordshire – he was a friend of my parents, someone who fixes people when they're sick or injured. A teacher, factory workers, petro attendants; people who are only different from you because they don't have magic. In every other way we're exactly the same, but your lot can't get over themselves and all the pureblood nonsense in order to see that. You're all so prejudiced that you can't even deal with the fact that your esteemed Master is a half-blood! He should be on top of the 'Pureblood's Official List of Everyone We hate.' But he says all the right things, about Mudbloods, and Muggles, all because he's a descendant of another evil man and his own father was a Muggle!"

Hermione paused to take a deep breath before continuing, but Draco cut her off.

"Enough," he growled. "I refuse to sit here and listen while you show _your_ prejudice off like a badge or a medal, trying to cram it down my throat."

"My prejudice?" Hermione squeaked, practically screaming. Draco merely met her furious gaze with one of defiance. "My prejudice," she repeated calmly; too calmly She sat down huffily in the chair and faced Draco with icy daggers for eyes. "Please, Malfoy, I beg you. Tell me all about my prejudice. After all, you know the subject too well, as I'm sure you dear father started drilling it into you before you were even born."

A tiny nerve somewhere in his brain would snap and he could see and feel only rage. Whenever she mentioned Draco's father, he temporarily lost the ability to think rationally. Why this happened, exactly, and why it happened only with her, he would never fully understand.

Draco moved from his seat until he was inches from Hermione's face. She flinched, and for the first time was slightly frightened of him. Perhaps it was the crazed look in his eyes, the one usually reserved for those he later killed, once upon a time. Sometimes that same feeling came back to him, and he had to consciously struggle with it to prevent it from taking hold of him

"Listen carefully. I don't want to have to repeat myself. _Again_. Never, and I do mean never when I say never, ever speak to me of my father." Draco's voice had an edge of steel and fire to it. "Don't say his name, or allude to him. I will not hesitate to make you regret it. This is your last warning."

Hermione nodded slowly, unable to tear her gaze from his. He couldn't tell if she was still afraid, or just preparing her next onslaught behind that mask of intense concentration.

"And do NOT try to tell me what I know and don't know. You know nothing about my life, what I grew up with, or what passes through my mind. You will never understand me, because you don't want to. You want to keep living in your black and white world where there are either Death Eaters or good guys. Wake up, Granger. That's nowhere near close to reality. Not all Death Eaters are as bad as you say, and not all 'good guys' are as pure as you believe. Everyone has to choose a side, and in this War there are only two choices. Some of those who live in the grey areas will choose a side that is not completely theirs."

"As for prejudice, yes, I grew up with it. Everyday. And I am prejudiced. But I'm also not naïve enough to think I've got all the answers. I've seen all kinds die, Granger. Pureblood. Mudblood. Half-blood. Muggle. They all die the same. They all have the same blood; it runs red from everyone just the same. I may be prejudiced, but I also know that blood won't save you in the end. If you think for one second that blood matters to the Dark Lord, you're gravely mistaken. He'd kill me without blinking and welcome you, if you offered yourself to him, in the same breath. He doesn't want to rid the world of those with less blood; he wants to rule the world. Alone. And he'll do that however he must, including recruiting those who would be willing to fight for the right cause, specifically, the cleansing of Wizarding blood."

"You hate me because of blood."

"I hate people for all sorts of reasons," he spat. "And yes, before I knew you, I hated you for your blood. Then after I got to know a little bit more about you, I found new reasons to hate you. One last thing; you attribute motives to all Death Eaters, and that reflects on me. And though I would never presume to know all the motives behind others' pledge to the Dark Lord, I know that mine was not and is not what you seem to assume. I was never offered power or even a small piece of the world. I wasn't really given a choice, not the kind with simple, right and wrong, black and white alternatives." She started to open her mouth, but again Draco cut her off. "And don't try to tell me there's always a choice," he said, sneering. "You can't even fathom what real choice is. So until you've faced what I've faced, until you're given two impossible options and forced to _choose_, you cannot judge my actions."

He stood up, a sufficient amount of anger deposited on the now pale girl in front of him. As he backed away, toward the couch, Hermione's color quickly returned to a flustered pink.

"You still chose to be awful to me and Harry and Ron, and tons of other people."

"Yes, I did. And I would do it again. It's a part of me, and it always will be. Despite everything, though everything, all of my choices have brought me to this moment, and have helped make me the man I am today."

"Oh, is that so?" she said, her voice full of ice and bite. "And do you like yourself, Malfoy? Are you _proud _of who – what – you are?"

A hundred different thoughts and emotions hit Draco all at once and he nearly stumbled under the weight. After the initial onslaught, three words paraded in front of his eyes like a marquee: hate – fear – shame. Over and over; in multicolored glitter.

Draco frowned, suddenly exhausted from their bickering and yelling. Where was Potter? Why wasn't he down here, defending her or something? Wasn't that his bit? Run in, and save the day, or the damsel in distress? He ran a hand through his loose, straight hair, sighing.

"And what kind of person am I?" he said with a heavy voice.

"You're just like all of them, just like your father. You have attacked and killed defenseless Muggles; my parents included. You have always taken pleasure in other peoples' pain and misfortune. You disgust me. And nothing is ever going to change that. You are never going to chance."

Draco was once again pushed to the edge of rage, toward that feeling of pure fury and murder he'd come to call simply Red. But he kept himself from jumping. "Listen to me very carefully," he said through clenched teeth. "I want to make sure you're listening. Are you? Granger, are you listening to me?" he yelled. She nodded, afraid to roll her eyes. "I am nothing like Lucius. Nothing at all. Am I clear?" She blinked, but said nothing. "Granger. Am. I. Clear?" He was almost screaming at her.

"Yes, Malfoy, I heard you," She replied, through gritted teeth.

"But did you really _hear_ me? Do you understand me?" His voice had returned to the deadly calm of a few moments before.

Hermione regarded him coldly. "That you're nothing like your father?" She narrowed her eyes. "I can't detect a difference."

"Get out."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said, get out. Out of my sight. Now."

Hermione was stunned. Was it possible she'd pushed him too far? What was too far for Draco Malfoy? Who was he, really? Hermione recovered from her shock and did as he commanded; she stomped to her room in a huff, slamming the door behind her. After a minute, she heard his door slam too, rattling the window in her room.

She sat on her bed, her mind still reeling from what had just happened. It wasn't the giant screaming match, but him sending her away that had her mind spinning. Three things were plaguing her thoughts. One – he'd become so angry with her that he'd told her to leave. But he hadn't once called her – that name, or any names, or cursed, or hexed, or killed her (which she was afraid of at one point). Two – she had simply done as he'd commanded. She gave him what he wanted, which was her out of his face. Why had she backed down without more of a fight? Draco brought out the fire in her, and she didn't like to leave unless the other person was a smoldering heap of ashes. Perhaps the fact that he hadn't called her names has shocked her so much she didn't argue when he told her to leave.

The third thought was the most disturbing. It seemed as though she cared. That could explain the hot tears threatening to spill over. Through the entire fight, she kept waiting for it – the "M" word. She was ready with a response, and she expected it to shoot from his mouth at every turn. But it never came. If there was one thing she thought she could count on, it was Draco Malfoy acting like the Draco Malfoy she knew: a 15-year old princeling who sought ways to make her life miserable.

The Draco Malfoy down the hall from her was nothing like that boy. He'd been right – she knew nothing about him. She'd formed a rigid image of him in her mind, and wasn't about to let anything topple it. He hadn't called her a Mudblood, not once, not even when she tried to bait him by speaking of his father. The boy he once was wouldn't have blinked an eye before spitting it at her.

She'd actually almost wanted him to call her the name so she could retreat behind her wall and go back to the world she knew, where he was everything she knew he was; it was safe in that world. But he hadn't. That's why she'd started the whole tirade, she realized, to remind herself that he, her parents' killer, was an awful, cold, unfeeling jerk. Because there was a part of her, a part she refused to acknowledge, that was starting to see another truth. His behavior during all the time she'd spent with him over the last couple of months was extremely contradictory to that image she held of him. He was still himself, still arrogant and rude, but his words didn't carry the hate and venom they once did. Until tonight, when she'd forced it out of him.

And so she cared. She cared that he was different – obviously different, blaringly different. She was finally forced to admit it to herself, which was hard. The effort caused two of those hot water drops to fall into her lap. She cared that he hadn't called her a Mudblood because it meant he was a stranger, someone she didn't know at all. Not that she really wanted to know him, but it hurt to find out she had been oh, so, wrong, and it made her want to know _why_ she was wrong, which meant finding out things about this stranger she might regret learning.

She could learn that he had a heart after all, that he really did know the right things to do; that he really was changed. She had accepted at the surface that he was changed, but it hadn't turned her internally. Deep down, she saw the same person she'd always seen, still expected the worst from him, was still waiting for him to unleash his true nature on her.

Hermione allowed another tear to fall before making her decision. She couldn't – wouldn't – stay in this house. He was too much; there was too much she had to work through before she could face him again. She packed her bag for a week, intending to crash at the Burrow. Malfoy would get his request; she'd leave; he wouldn't have to look at her. Quietly, she opened, exited through, then closed behind her the door to her room. Hermione tiptoed down the stairs, through the house, and out the door.

When she was safely tucked away in Ginny's room, with her two friends beside casting worried glances at her and each other, only then did Hermione allowed her tears of sadness to fall unrestrained.

Harry emerged from his room five minutes after Hermione left. He noticed her door was shut, as was Draco's. Thinking nothing of it, he went to find food. After an hour passed without a peep from either of his housemates, Harry went to call on Hermione.

He knocked on her door; there was no answer. "Hermione?" Nothing. He tried the handle and was surprised to find it unlocked. "Hermione?" he said again, peeking his head into the room. She was not there, her bed was perfectly made, and nothing was out of place. Harry frowned, then walked to Draco's room.

He knocked.

"What?" came a very grumpy voice.

"It's Harry. Open up." Harry heard a groan and the door opened a moment later.

"What?" asked Draco again, looking slightly disheveled and frowning deeply.

"Do you know where Hermione is?"

Draco scowled. "No, I don't. Why in Merlin's name would _I_ know? Check her room."

"She's not there."

"Downstairs?"

Harry shook his head.

"Outside?"

"Nope."

"Well, Harry, I have no clue where she would be," Draco said in exasperation. Then his eye's narrowed. "What have you been doing?" Surely Harry couldn't have missed their fantastic fight. He was sure everyone all the way in London had heard it.

"Oh, Ginny wrote me and I needed to send her a good reply. I heard you and Hermione talking and it was distracting, so I put a silencing charm on my room."

"Oh. Well, wherever she is, I'm sure Granger can take care of herself."

"Uh-huh. She'll be back soon, I'm sure."

"Whatever. Bye, Potter."

Harry nodded, distracted. It wasn't like Hermione to go somewhere without telling him. And Malfoy was acting funny; it wasn't like him to be unconcerned over her whereabouts. He was always insistent that she tell him _exactly _where she was going, and when she would return. For him to dismiss the fact that she wasn't even on the property was highly unusual.

It bothered Harry. He knocked on Draco's door again.

"What?" said Draco, now a little angry.

"I was wondering why you don't seem to care that Hermione is gone."

"I told you. She can take care of herself."

"But you're usually so protective."

Draco scowled. "Well, I don't feel like caring tonight. Okay?"

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Bye, Potter." And Draco shut the door in Harry's face.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thank you, everyone, who has reviewed this story! I've had 30 reviews for both chapters 10 and 11, and I can't thank you enough! This was a big chapter, and I hope you all liked it. :)


	13. Bird's Nest

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter and the wonderful world in which he lives.

**Note: **This chapter is an intermediary between the big fight and the inevitable resolution. It reminds me of someone pushing on through a strong wind, on their way to somewhere they have to be. They have to go through the hurricane-force winds to get to the other side. So, bear with me. I think you'll like the next chapter. :)

**ooo**

**Chapter 13 – Bird's Nest**

"Hermione, what's wrong?" asked Ginny, when she'd cornered Hermione two nights after her friend had come over and cried herself to sleep. She was worried; Hermione was still at the Burrow, and showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. "I've never seen you like this."

"It's nothing, Ginny. I promise."

Ginny rolled her eyes, smiling. "You do know I don't believe you, right?. Come on, spill! Why are you here, not your place, moping around like your cat died? It's not like you. And where _is _your cat, anyway?"

The need to talk about what had happened, even just a little bit, overcame Hermione's determination to figure this puzzle out on her own. She sighed. "Okay. I had a huge fight with someone. And Crookshanks is staying with Hannah. You remember her, right? From Hufflepuff?"

"Yes, I remember," said Ginny dismissively. "Who was the fight with?"

"I – I can't tell you. You don't know him." And neither do I, she thought suddenly.

"A him?" Ginny squealed, excited. "Hermione, are you seeing someone?"

"No!" said Hermione quickly. "No, he's just – someone. Anyway, he's insufferable, and arrogant, and it was a glorious row, full of screaming, and threats. But – he didn't do what I expected. And now I'm confused, and hurt, and angry, and… sad."

"Hermione, who is this guy?" Ginny was showing signs of concern, for which Hermione was grateful; her friends were amazing.

"It's not the guy so much as what we fought about. I don't want to talk about _him_ – at all."

"How can you be so upset about what you fought over if the guy doesn't matter at all? And I'm confused; you're upset because he did something unexpected?"

Hermione chuckled. "Actually, that isn't the case. He _didn't_ do something that I _did_ expect. And that's the problem. I was so sure he would react a certain way, that I never stopped to think he might not. I mean, what if I'm wrong about him? What if he's really changed – and I mean _really _changed?"

Ginny smiled. "Without more information about the fight and the guy, I can't really help."

Hermione started to say something, but a tapping sound distracted them both. A beautiful black and grey owl was pecking at Ginny's window.

"Oh, she's pretty! But I've never seen her before," said Ginny as she opened the window to admit the owl. Ginny untied the letter, frowning. "It's for you."

Hermione thought the owl looked familiar, but couldn't place it. When she saw the scratchy handwriting on the letter she had delivered, from none other than the guy they were just talking about, she remembered seeing the owl leaving the Edge a few times. She sighed and opened it.

_I need essence of mytleweed by seven on Friday evening. Surely I do not have to impress upon you the importance of timing when brewing potions._

That was the entire letter. No greeting, no signature. Not that she needed one. Too late, Hermione noticed that Ginny was peering over her shoulder.

"What's that all about?"

"Ginny! This was for me!"

"I thought it might be from that guy you fought with. You know, wanting to make up, or some such thing."

Hermione chuckled. "I don't think that this particular guy is the type to send letters via owl requesting forgiveness. It's just work stuff."

"So you know who sent it?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't they use names?"

"I don't know, Ginny. Please don't make anything out of this; it's nothing." Hermione stood from the bed and walked to Bubo. She ran her hand down the owl's back absently before giving her a treat and sending her off.

"No reply?"

"I'm quite sure none was expected."

"Okay, back to the guy. Why are you sad?"

"I don't even know. I mean, I don't even like the guy. Can't stand him, actually. I think I'm sad because a little piece of me has to change and I'm reluctant to allow it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Hermione smiled. "I know. Let's do something – let's go to Diagon Alley and visit Fred and George!"

"Hermione, you're changing the subject!"

"I know, but this is something I have to think through myself. I appreciate your wanting to help, and I really want you to help, but you're right, without more details you can't offer anything. And I just can't give you details right now. Maybe soon."

"A trip to Diagon Alley sounds like the perfect distraction for you; you've been so glum. But I can say this: trust yourself, Hermione. You are a brilliant witch, and your gut feelings are usually right. Don't let your head and your over-thinking keep you away from something just because you don't like it. Change is often for the better, you know. It could turn out to be something really wonderful."

Hermione scoffed, thinking of Malfoy. Wonderful; right. "I'll try, Ginny. Thank you. Now let's go!" She pulled Ginny off the bed, laughing, and the two girls rounded up Ron and left for Diagon Alley.

**ooo**

"Harry, it's been three days."

"I know, Draco. Relax."

"She didn't reply to the note."

"But your owl has returned, so you know she got it."

Draco stopped his pacing and plopped onto the couch. Harry watched him, amused, from a chair. "She'd better be here on time."

"It's Hermione; she will be."

Draco frowned, mussing his hair. Harry thought he looked like he wanted to rip things apart to ease his tension. He found it interesting. Since he'd decided to start watching Malfoy, Harry had noticed a few things. Just very, very small things. Like how whenever Hermione was in the house, specifically in a room away from him, Draco seemed to be fractionally more relaxed. Then when Hermione was in the same room, he was fractionally more fidgety. Harry couldn't figure it out. There was the obvious consideration that Malfoy fancied her, but that didn't seem to fit what Harry knew. And Harry knew a lot about what made Draco tick.

After sharing his story with Harry in that 'Unbreakable' hour, Draco seemed to accept Harry as an equal. Harry thought he was the only person alive who had ever seen the real Draco, and he guarded this secret with the fervor Draco would require. Draco opened up to him more and more with each passing day. It wasn't as if they sat around and swapped stories over tea, but in small ways he would give Harry more of his trust. Harry had even seen a genuine smile on Draco's face one day when Harry had bested him. True, it was a fluke; Draco had been distracted by a random, out-of-the-blue waterspout spinning on the ocean, but he'd still bested him. And it was nearly impossible to distract Draco; Harry had as yet been unsuccessful in his attempts.

"Don't worry so much, Draco."

"I'm not worried," he snapped. "She'd just better bring me that myrtleweed."

Harry nodded, smiling slightly. Draco stood and resumed his pacing.

"Draco, tomorrow is when you should be pacing, if even then. There's no point in doing it tonight. I have a feeling she's not coming tonight, and it's not crucial that you have the ingredient tonight. I suggest you have a bit of ice cream and force yourself to think about something other than that awful potion."

Draco stopped and turned to Harry, frowning. "Ice cream?"

"Hermione's. In the icebox. Chocolate, I think. Though her favorite flavor is butter pecan."

"What do I care?" Draco snapped, a little too quickly. Harry ignored it.

"Eat. It always puts her in a better mood. She calls it the healing power of food, or some such thing."

Draco grumbled under his breath but went toward the kitchen. Harry heard him open the icebox and poke around, then close it forcefully. Next a drawer opened, and a utensil was removed with a bit more clanking than was really necessary.

Then Draco returned with the carton and a spoon. He resumed his pacing, frowning worse than before, occasionally taking a bite of the dessert.

"Draco, sit," commanded Harry, "You're making me nervous."

Draco scowled, but, surprisingly, sat. Harry returned to the book he'd been reading when Malfoy had entered the room ten minutes prior and started his pacing. After he finished a chapter, Harry looked up. Draco was staring at a spot on the wall, carton in one hand, spoon in the other. The carton was empty; the spoon held the last bite, but it was melting onto the rug.

"Malfoy, watch your spoon!" said Harry. He knew Draco would be even more in a fit if he ruined the carpet.

Draco cursed, put the spoon away and cleaned the spot on the rug.

"She's going to expect to find ice cream in the icebox when she returns."

Draco glared at Harry. "Too bad, eh?"

**ooo**

It was the end of the workday on Friday. Hermione was packing up her things, not staying late as usual so that she could go to Diagon Alley and purchase the myrtleweed for Malfoy. She had put off the errand, preferring not to think about it – and consequently _him_ – for as long as it was possible. But now she had only two hours to obtain the needed ingredient and deliver it. She sighed and stood.

"Hey, Hermione," came a friendly voice.

"Hi, Seamus. Heading home?"

"Well, I was hoping to convince you to join me for dinner. Just friends," he said quickly, noting the look on her face. "I'm not trying to be a jerk, but I just thought you've looked down more than ever lately and could use a laugh. Even if it's at my expense."

Hermione smiled. "Oh, Seamus, that sounds lovely. Unfortunately, I can't have dinner tonight due to other obligations. But I'm heading to Diagon Alley to purchase a few things; would you like to join me?"

"I would, Hermione. What are you in the market for?" he asked, extending a gentlemanly arm, which she accepted with a little laugh.

"My primary mission is myrtleweed. But I also need a new ink bottle and there's always the bookstore."

"Lead the way."

After purchasing the myrtleweed and ink bottle, Seamus and Hermione spent half an hour in Flourish and Blotts, after which Seamus convinced Hermione to get coffee with him at a small café. Time, in its infinite mystery, ran away from Hermione, and when she finally glanced at her watch, it was quarter til eight.

The smile dropped from her face and she turned white.

"Hermione, are you okay?"

She stood hastily, collecting her things. "Yes, I'm just – oh, I'm late, and – oh, he'll kill me. I'm sorry, I have to go!" She practically ran out of the café. Seamus watched her go, worried and amused at the same time.

**ooo**

When she arrived at the house, she rushed to the front door but stopped short with her hand on the knob. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for what was about to happen. When she opened her eyes, she only felt worse. He would be livid, she was certain of it. Deciding that it would be best to get it over with as quickly as possible, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Harry was sitting in the front room and jumped up when he heard her.

"Hermione! Is everything okay?"

"Uhm, yes, why?"

"You're late; you're never late."

"Oh, well, I, uh – "

Then Draco entered the room. Hermione felt the rage radiating from him in waves. It also seemed as though the lights in the room dimmed, the temperature dropped a few degrees, and the wind started howling as well. It was probably just her imagination. Still, she didn't look at him.

"Well?" he said, his voice shaking. "Where were you?"

Finally, after taking a deep breath, Hermione looked at him and inhaled sharply. His eyes were boiling in their intensity and he had a look on his face that was both anger and an odd form of relief mixed into one. It threw her.

"I – I'm sorry I'm late, I lost track of time…"

"Obviously," he hissed, the relief, if that's what it was, completely gone. "Why?" He stepped closer to her, and Hermione visibly shrunk back from him.

"It doesn't matter. Here's the weed." She held up the small vial to him. He snatched it roughly from her and threw it across the room. The bottle shattered and a small, blue mist floated into the air and disappeared. Fortunately, she'd bought two bottles; she decided to give the other one to Harry, just in case. And later.

"Tell me where you were," he growled, advancing on her again.

Hermione snapped out of her fear and stood up to her full height. She refused to be intimidated by Draco Malfoy, even though she was in the wrong.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I hope your potion isn't ruined."

"Of course it is," he snarled, "And I just destroyed the final ingredient."

She smirked. "Luckily, I bought two."

He glared at her. "If you don't tell me why you were late – "

"What? What are you going to do, Malfoy? Kill me? Curse me? I am not afraid of you." She crossed her arms defiantly.

"I'm not going to _kill _you, you stupid girl. I just want to know why I wasted three days brewing a potion that required your cooperation, however unwanted, to complete."

"I won't tell you. It doesn't matter the reason. I was late; I messed up; I was wrong. You wasted your time because I messed up. And I'm sorry I was late. That's all you need to know."

Draco thought he might actually hit something. The wall was looking promising. _Why _wouldn't she just tell him? Didn't she stop to think that maybe, just maybe, Harry had been worried about her? Because she was _never_ late; even _he _knew that. A tiny voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he'd been worried too, but he quashed it. Now was not the time to pay attention to such things.

"Granger, I demand you tell me," he said, calmly, but with the kind of calm that carried a tremendous force behind it.

"No, Malfoy. It doesn't matter. Why are you always so controlling? Why do you have to know every little thing that I do? I don't owe you anything. In case you haven't thought about it lately, without _me _you wouldn't have been able to get the bloody ingredient in the first place! So do us all a favor and get over yourself!" With that, Hermione spun around and walked through the front door, slamming it behind her.

"That went well," said Harry, cheerily. "So, Draco, tell me. It is now blindingly obvious that I have missed something. You two were taking turns trying to kill each other with your glares and spitting words. The last thing I remember, you two were being somewhat civil. I was suspicious before, when you seemed indifferent as to her whereabouts, and then to her safety as they days went on, but now my suspicions have been confirmed."

Draco sat down wearily in the other chair by Harry. "We had a huge fight. And I was never indifferent as to her safety. I just didn't want to think about it that night."

"Ah. That explains a lot. What was the fight about?"

"Prejudice, I think; mine and hers. And my father." He ran a hand through his hair. "She won't just let it lie. I asked her repeatedly – well, yelled at her, actually – to not mention him. A very simple thing to not do, but she's always got to bring him up. It feels like she's trying to rub salt in my open wounds."

"To be fair, she has no idea you _have _open wounds. And, well, she probably just knew she could rile you further by mentioning him. I'm guessing it worked."

"Too well. You really picked a great time to silence your room."

Harry smiled. "I do wish I could have heard it though. Must have been spectacular."

Draco gave a half-smile. "Our finest ever," he said bitterly.

**ooo**

When Hermione arrived at the Burrow that night, she tried to act normal, but angry tears threatened her yet again. She excused herself from dinner and ran to Ginny's room, silencing it before allowing herself to set the tears free. Ginny came up after a few minutes and wrapped her arms around Hermione, letting her cry.

After ten minutes or so, Hermione slowly started to calm down. Ginny gave her tissues and brushed her curly hair away from her face.

"What happened?" she asked, kindly. "Was it – him?"

Hermione could only nod, scared that if she tried to speak now, she'd either just start crying again or say something that would give away who _he _was.

"Did you give him that myrtle-stuff?" Hermione nodded, but fresh tears popped into her eyes. "Was he glad?"

"I was late," she said.

Ginny smiled sympathetically. "Oh, Hermione. Did he yell at you?" Hermione nodded. "Was he terrible?" She nodded again. "I'm so sorry," she said, wrapping Hermione in her arms again as the fresh tears lost their battle with gravity.

"He – was – so – cold," she gasped between sobs. Hermione wasn't scared of him, not really, but at the same time, she was terrified of him at certain moments. The bare emotions she'd felt when she realized she would be late in delivering the weed had worn through her defenses and she was now crying simply for the sake of crying. She couldn't stop herself, no matter how hard she tried. She had still been raw from their fight earlier in the week, and she had dreaded even seeing him just to hand over the vial, but then… then she was late. And she had known he'd be furious, she had tried to prepare herself, but he was even angrier than she imagined.

Once again, Draco Malfoy had scared her. The intensity with which he demanded she answer him was staggering.

After an hour, Ron came up to check on them. Hermione was sleeping fitfully in Ginny's lap; Ginny was running her hands through Hermione's hair.

"She okay?" Ron whispered, peeking his head in the door.

"I think she will be."

"Was it – that guy?"

Ginny nodded.

"Git. Wish I knew who it was. I'd send a few of my recently perfected hexes his way."

Ginny smiled. "Yeah, I know. Me too." She looked back down at Hermione. "What's going on with her? It's like she's a completely different person since…" Then Ginny stopped smiling and Ron finished her sentence.

"Since Harry disappeared."

Neither of them spoke again. Ron put a comforting hand on his sister's shoulder before leaving the room.

Hermione, who hadn't been sleeping soundly, heard the door shut quietly, but didn't open her eyes. After a moment, she felt a drop on her cheek, and she looked up to see that Ginny was silently crying.

She sat up. "Ginny, what is it? Are you okay?"

Ginny nodded weakly. "It's just – Harry." Hermione gave her friend the same warm hug she'd been given that night and they took turns raiding the tissue box well into the night.

**ooo**

"Harry."

"Draco."

"It's been ten days."

"I know."

Draco let out a frustrated yell that sounded something like a barbaric yawp. They were outside, on the ledge where they practiced, taking a quick break from a full day of training. Harry was especially tired, as Draco seemed to grow more and more inhuman as Hermione's absence lengthened. He pushed him hard, never accepting failure or excuses.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Draco?"

"I've never – uhm – apologized to anyone. In my life. Ever."

Harry looked at him, mouth and eyes wide. "Seriously? Not ever?"

Draco thought for a moment. "Well, I've never meant it. I skirted around actually apologizing to her when you two first came here, but I've never just said it."

Harry shook his head. "That's – impressive, but in a bad way. You're how old?" he asked incredulously.

"Twenty."

A few minutes passed, the chilly wind blowing around them and cooling their skin.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm not sure exactly how to do it."

Harry nodded, understanding. Draco was still himself; he wouldn't _ask _Harry for help. "You just, say you're sorry. And it helps to say what you're sorry for."

"But she'll scream at me, won't she?"

"Probably. Just don't let what she says get to you, that's the most important thing. Otherwise, if you start in on her, you'll just say something you'll regret and have to apologize again. Stand there until she's done, then repeat that you're sorry."

"Sorry," Draco said clearly, as though practicing a new spell and determined to get the inflection right. "I'm sorry."

"See, you've got it." Harry took a sip from his water and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"I'm sorry for losing my temper and yelling at you."

"Bravo."

"She's still going to scream at me," Draco said, looking out over the water, watching the gently breathing of the earth.

"What are you going to say?"

Draco shrugged, and Harry took it as a sign that he didn't want to talk about it anymore. Five minutes passed in silence, then Draco stood.

"Let's go. Break's over."

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thanks, as always, for reading and reviewing!

Much praise to: AerinAlanna, xlittle-lost-soulx, adriennelouise for correctly identifying "Cry Havoc" as a phrase from Shakespeare's, "Julius Caesar."

And very **special **praise to Sinjinn and kazfeist, who not only correctly identified the Shakespeare play, but also knew it was quoted in Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, by General Chang of the Klingon Empire. And now you know a little bit more about me: Trekkie. Nerd all the way, and proud. 


	14. When Baby Birds Are Pushed, They Fly

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. Never will.

**Note: **I hope you like this one. And if you've been debating on when would be the perfect time to leave a review, this is it. I really want to hear what you think about this chapter. It's a turning point.

**ooo**

**Chapter 14 – When Baby Birds Are Pushed, They Fly**

"Ginny?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

Hermione looked at her friend. "What is essence of myrtleweed used for?"

Ginny scrunched her nose and frowned. "Myrtleweed? You mean that stuff you delivered to the mean man a week or so ago?"

"Yes."

"I have no idea."

"Do you have your potions books I could see?"

"Sure," said Ginny. "They're on that shelf behind you ."

They were sitting in Ginny's room, knitting scarves for the members of the Order. It had been nine days since Hermione had failed to deliver the vial on time; twelve since she'd left the Edge; and it only occurred to her today that she didn't know what potion Malfoy had been brewing or what it was for. She also knew nothing about myrtleweed, having never used it in school. Hermione flipped through all of Ginny's books, but it wasn't even mentioned once, let alone used in a potion. She frowned as she closed the last book.

"Nothing," she muttered, frustrated. Her thoughts jumped to the book she had tucked under her bed at the Edge,the book of Potions ingredients Malfoy had lent her. She glanced at her watch; half past two. They wouldn't be there, as it was midafternoon and they would be training; she stood.

"I'm going to find out," she said.

"About the weed? Why?"

"I'm curious," Hermione said. She didn't bother to grab her bag; she wouldn't be long.

"How are you going to find out? You're not going to go see _him_ to ask, are you?"

"No, of course not. Where do I always go when I'm stumped?" she asked with a smile, gathering a scarf and her coat.

Ginny grinned and rolled her eyes. "The library."

"To books; yes. I'll be back in a bit."

**ooo**

As Hermione suspected, the house was empty. Still, unable to keep herself from doing it, she tiptoed through the drawing room and up the stairs. The house felt colder than she remembered, but maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe it was how she felt about the house after everything that had happened there recently. She quietly shut the door to her room and pulled out the book, which was right where she left it, and opened it to the index.

_Essence of myrtlewood; page 423._

Hermione hesitated. If she looked up the ingredient here, she risked running into Malfoy. But it was his book; what if he'd know it was no longer in the house? She juggled the options in her mind, of either leaving with the book, or staying, and finally decided to risk taking the book back to the Burrow. She crept downstairs and through the house, adrenaline pumping, and was about to turn the doorknob, when she heard her name.

"Granger."

Hermione's hand froze with the knob half-turned, her eyes widened, her heart started thumping, and she dropped the book. She bent to pick it up, but he said, "Leave it."

Draco didn't look at Hermione as he stepped past her and opened the door. "Follow me," he commanded in a voice that promised consequences if she didn't.

She watched as Draco stepped off the porch and started walking west, his robes billowing out behind him, toward the woods on the edge of the property. His figure got smaller and she stared, unsure of what to do. As she tried to calm herself, Hermione puzzled over his actions. He hadn't sounded angry, or mean, just stern when he spoke to her. What on earth could he possibly want with her now?

But he never looked back, never looked to make sure she was behind him.

Eventually, this fact, coupled with a growing curiosity that finally overtook her fear, bested her and she took off running after him. When she caught up to him, he said nothing and did nothing to acknowledge her presence; he kept walking, with no expression on his face.

The way he walked, with absolute purpose, reminded her of someone who was about to do something they didn't want to do, but had no choice in the matter. His path and mind were set ahead of him, and he didn't waver, or hesitate, or second-guess himself. She thought about what he'd said about choice during their fight. Perhaps, if she'd looked closer, paid more attention, as Harry had during sixth year, she would have recognized the look on his face at that moment.

After ten minutes of walking in silence, Hermione's mind stopped thinking and started racing. "I'm walking toward a creepy patch of woods with Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, ruthless killer," she thought, starting to panic a bit. "Not smart, Hermione," She scolded. Images of movies she'd seen flashed through her mind, of things that happened in forsaken forests, and she looked at the stony man next to her.

"Yes?" he drawled, without moving his gaze from directly in front of him.

"Where are we going?" she asked, trying not to sound scared.

"The woods."

"I guessed that. Why?" she asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

Draco stopped dead in his tracks, whipping his head around to stare at her.

"Kill you?" he asked, an amazed expression on his face. "Why would I – if I wanted to kill you, I'd have done so." He turned around, again expressionless, and resumed his path. "No need to bring you out here."

"I know," she said, her fear abating slightly. Of course he wasn't going to kill her, he'd had ample opportunity in the last two months. She felt almost silly for thinking it, but her fear spiked again once she saw the edge of the trees getting much closer. Then suddenly, they were surrounded by trees, but Draco just kept walking deeper into the thick trees.

"Uhm, Malfoy? We're here, in the woods, in case you hadn't noticed," she said. She kept jumping between fear and annoyance at such a pace that they had merged into one emotion.

"I am aware."

"Then why are we still walking?" Hermione stopped and crossed her arms.

Draco stopped, shoulders slumping and turned to face her. "Because I haven't decided what to say yet."

Hermione stared at him.

He took a deep breath, set his jaw and his posture, and started. "Okay. Fine. Here goes. This isn't working."

Hermione blinked. "What's not working?"

"This," he said, pointing to himself, then her. "Us."

She tilted her head to one side, gazing intently at him. "Oh no, Malfoy, are you breaking up with me?" she said, dripping sarcasm from her lips. "Are you going to tell me it's not me, it's you? That we're just too different to make things work?"

"Shut it, Granger," he said through gritted teeth with a terrible glare. "We're supposed to be working together and all we ever seem to do is fight. It's counterproductive and it's not going to help in this effort."

Panic spread through Hermione. "Don't you dare!" she cried.

He frowned. "Don't what?"

"I will NOT let you wipe my memory!"

Draco stared at her hard for a second, then comprehension dawned and he dismissed her statement with a wave. "I'm not going to Obliviate you; relax. I'm just saying – we tried to be civil, but look where that got us. We go from being somewhat decent, then screaming at each other. What happened two weeks ago was… not good. It led to you leaving the house and Harry and I rely on your ability to be seen in society. We can't go purchase potion ingredients whenever we need to; which is why I asked you to bring the myrtleweed."

"But I was late," she said, realizing just how much her absence might have affected him and Harry.

"Yes. Though that is neither here nor there at this point."

She sighed. "Look, I get it, okay? You and I - we're oil and water. Fine. I am perfectly capable of working at home. I don't know why you wanted me here in the first place."

"What? No, wait, I'm not asking you to leave." He let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm trying to tell you that we – " he took a deep breath before saying " – need – you here. Without you, this doesn't work."

"Then what do you want?" she demanded, unwilling to think about what he meant.

"Can't you – can't _we_ – try again to be civil?"

Hermione regarded him with curiosity. Did he really drag her out here, a mile from the house, to say _that_?

"I don't know."

"Why not? It was your idea in the first place, if you remember."

"It's just…" she started, but she bit her lip, not sure what she could say next. She still hadn't fully formed a conclusion about him yet.

"Whatever it is, just tell me."

"It's you, actually." What she meant was that she couldn't understand him, that she couldn't come to terms with him. She still battled to reconcile the discrepancies in his behavior.

Hermione watched Draco closely. Something flashed over his eyes briefly at what she said, something a lot like pain, but then his eyes darted to look over her shoulder. He was staring intently and she thought he had spotted something behind her. Hermione turned around to look, but saw nothing. When she turned back around to face Malfoy again, he was striding past her. He walked perhaps ten feet, then bent down to look at something on the ground. Hermione, already impatient, rolled her eyes and followed, reluctantly.

When she approached Draco and the mysterious object, he was frowning, concentrating hard on what he saw. On the ground, just in front of Draco, was a bird. It was green, with yellow patches on its wings, and its head was cocked oddly to one side, and one wing was stuck in an extended position. The other wing flapped uselessly as the bird tried to get away from Draco.

"Broken neck," he said, frowning, trying to calm the bird.

Hermione gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

"Wing too, looks like."

Tears sprung into her eyes. "Oh, that's awful. Just – kill it. End its misery."

Draco's head whipped around to look at her and when their eyes met, Hermione felt a lurch in her stomach. His eyes were burning with something she didn't understand. Draco said nothing, only turned back to the bird. He reached down and grasped the bird with one hand, holding it still but not hurting it, either. He pulled out his wand with the other hand and waved it over the bird a few times, muttering indistinctly. Hermione watched as the bird starting flapping both wings, again trying to get away, and then calmed under Draco's voice.

He continued speaking quietly, and Hermione saw the bird's head start moving. It chirped, and slowly Draco removed his hand to free the bird. He stood; the bird flew to land on his arm, completely healed. Hermione saw him smile at the bird, and again she felt a lurch, only this time it was her heart. It was a _real _smile, one of those rare ones that no one gets to see. She wasn't sure he even remembered that she was there, and she felt like she was intruding on something deeply personal. He muttered something; the bird chirped again and flew away. Draco watched it until it was out of sight.

He sighed heavily and turned to face Hermione slowly, as if it took every ounce of strength he had to force himself to look at her. Then slowly, he brought his gaze to meet hers; his eyes were still on fire.

"Granger – " he started.

"Okay, Draco. I'll make this work."

He stared at her, then simply nodded and started walking back toward the house; Hermione followed.

As they walked next to each other in silence, Hermione's mind was spinning. When Draco healed the bird and set it free, several things happened in her all at once. The huge wall she'd built, from which only a single brick had been pried loose earlier, came crashing down, and it was a mighty fall. Not one brick remained touching another. He had looked so… human.

Then wave upon wave of emotion struck her, scrambling to reach just a little higher along the beach, eroding the sand as each returned. The biggest wave, the strongest, was the one that screamed to her the obvious – that she had absolutely no idea who this man was. After their fight, Hermione had come to the realization that he was not the boy she knew years ago, but she still thought she knew a little bit about the man he'd become. In that moment of pure innocence, she knew she was wrong, so wrong.

How could someone who fit his profile – pureblood, Death Eater, cruel, evil, arrogant, spoiled (the list could go on for some time) – care enough to do what he'd just done? The answer, which flashed in Hermione's face, was, he couldn't. So one side of the equation was false, and since she'd just witnessed him healing the bird, something about the profile side was wrong. He would always be a pureblood and he was a Death Eater. Those were undisputed. She would have argued until she couldn't speak to prove he was cruel, but cruel people don't heal wounded animals. They twist the knife and watch the life fade from the wounded. Evil? She didn't know. Arrogant? Still, a little, but that was harmless, comparatively. Spoiled? Undoubtedly, though his humble home and furnishings made her question that as well. Hermione continued down a list of all the adjectives she could find that she had always associated with Draco. Each one was either still true but relatively harmless, not true at all (based on evidence she'd gathered since the end of July), or she couldn't decide because she knew so little about him.

Another wave was the one that had haunted her over the last twelve days – that she was a little prejudiced too. She had formed a picture of Draco Malfoy and refused to deter from it, even though, if she would admit it to herself, she had started to notice things about him that gave her pause. But until their fight, she quickly quashed such thoughts, since they didn't fit with her Draco Malfoy picture.

She decided to wipe the slate as clean as she could. After all, the man killed her parents. But Hermione didn't hate him anymore; she hadn't since the previous Christmas. Because he'd been right, when he told her that hate ate away at people; she knew it to be true firsthand. That cold, winter day had changed everything, and she'd decided then that she wouldn't allow Draco Malfoy to control her life, which she had allowed him to do however unaware he'd been.

A clean slate. _Tabula Rasa._ Every thing he did would leave a fresh impression. She wasn't so naïve as to think they would never fight, or argue, or glare, or slip back into old feelings. But her entire outlook was different. She would try to approach him without the baggage she had carried with her for so long.

Hermione wanted a clean slate with him too; it only seemed fair. Though Draco had not apologized, she was able to recognize his actions for what they were: his best attempt at an apology. And she appreciated the effort all the same. She, however, was quite able to say those two simple, impossible words, and had plenty of experience at using them.

"Malfoy?" she said, breaking the silence about halfway to the house.

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry."

"About what?"

"Mentioning things that I agreed not to mention. It won't happen again."

Draco had not kept his mind idle during the silent trek either. Though he didn't completely understand just exactly what had happened in the woods, he knew that something had changed between them. The silence, the distance, was almost comfortable now, whereas before, even on the walk _to _the woods, it had always been oppressive. It had been as if there was a giant elephant in the room, staring at them, watching them, eyes darting back and forth between them. He felt no elephant now.

He thought of the bird. It was purely coincidental that he had noticed it struggling to move, frightened at being unable to do something it had always been able to do – fly. As he'd knelt before the bird, something in his heart was stirred and he even forgot that Hermione was standing just behind him. He had been that bird once; he had been nearly broken beyond repair when someone unexpected had reached out to heal him. They were on his mind when Hermione interrupted with her call to relieve the bird of its suffering. Again, he thought of himself as he turned back to look at the bird, and he was thankful that there was someone who hadn't given up on him, who hadn't thought him a lost cause. He didn't want to think about where he would be if that night had never happened.

And then she'd called him _Draco._ He wasn't sure what to think about that. It sounded so strange coming from her, and he wondered if she'd ever spoken his name aloud before. Probably, as he was responsible for her parents' death, and it had been her job to hunt him down. She didn't stutter, or hesitate; she said it with confidence and a quiet strength. There was conviction in her voice when she said his name. 'Draco;' not 'Malfoy'. 'I'll make it work.' In the almost two weeks since their blow-up, Draco had realized that he thought she was the more frequent disturber of the tentative peace between them; was she admitting fault on her part with her simple statement?

He was by no means at ease with Hermione; he was never really at ease with anyone, except Harry now, which he found odd. But he didn't feel unsettled with her as he always had. Perhaps it was what he'd done to her that kept him from relaxing, kept him expecting her to lash out irrationally and rip his heart to shreds. She hadn't done that, though, and perhaps now he could believe she never would. Of course, there were all the secrets he still kept from her, which he vowed to himself to reveal to her some day. When that day came, he believed the unsettled feelings would return, and he believed she would indeed lash out at him. However that day was still in the distant future, so he refused to let the thought of it ruin the light feeling running through him.

"So," he started, unsure of himself, of how to actually _talk _to her. "Were you stealing my book?"

Hermione laughed, a pure, heartfelt sound, that only served to further lighten his mood and he cracked a small, guarded smile.

"No, I was just borrowing it. I fully intended to return it."

They were nearing the house, and unconsciously, they both slowed, as though they were worried that by entering the house, they would break the peace they had found in the wide-open fields and the forest, and that everything would fall apart. Inevitably, however slowly they walked, they still reached the house.

Draco stopped on the porch. "Where were you taking it?" he asked.

"The Burrow. I wanted to look up something." She didn't ask about the myrtleweed, or the potion he'd been brewing. It still felt like at any moment, their fragile, new bond would shatter.

"So you'll be going, then?"

Hermione nodded. "Ginny is expecting me soon. I'm already later than I said I'd be." He nodded, looking at the floorboards underneath his feet. "And I promised her I'd go to Diagon Alley with her tomorrow."

Draco's head shot up, worry creasing his brow. "Alone? Just you two?"

"No, Ron will come, and Charlie. Molly never lets us go anywhere alone."

He exhaled, relieved. "Good."

"And, well, then I'll need to return your book."

"Okay," he said slowly.

"I suppose I'll be coming back soon."

"Okay," he repeated, and he couldn't help but let another half-smile escape. Quickly, before she might notice or it turn into a full-blown smile, he opened the front door and stepped in to get the book from where it had fallen when she dropped it. Then he came back outside. "Here."

"Thanks." Despite the awkward silence, neither of them felt awkward. "Uhm, later," she said, not wanting to say goodbye, or see you, or anything familiar. They weren't there yet, not close really, but they were going that way.

"Yeah," He said, then turned and went into the house, closing the door behind him.

Hermione sighed and stared at the door for a few seconds. Now that she was alone, she let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and had to grasp the porch rail to steady herself.

If she had tried to guess what might have happened when she went after that book, she never in a million years would have pictured what actually took place. It felt good; and she felt a lightness in her that had never been there before. Almost as if, were she to try and walk, she'd fly instead.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thank you, as always! Remember, I want to hear your thoughts! I tried to make chapter 13 (Bird's Nest) "Reviewer Appreciation Chapter" and respond to each person's review. For those who left anonymous reviews, THANK YOU! Each and every one of you make me happy to write. :)


	15. Cooking and Awkward Conversations

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter.

**Note: **Woo-hoo! Three hundred reviews! Special thanks to ANUKIN for helping me get there with five in a row:) And, as always, thanks to ALL my reviewers - MWAH! Love you all!

**ooo**

**Chapter 15 – Cooking and Awkward Conversations**

"Did you find it?" asked Ginny once Hermione was back at the Burrow and tucked away in Ginny's room.

"I found it in this book, but I haven't read it yet," she replied, taking a seat on the floor.

"Oh, good," she said, smiling, "Let's hear it."

Hermione opened to page four hundred twenty-three and read aloud. "Essence of myrtleweed. Found to grow in temperate climates. Main uses: Essence of myrtleweed is used mostly as a finishing ingredient in 17 potions. Its effects vary depending on the potion. It is also used as a thickening agent in one spell, a generally Dark spell, called The Mace, whose effects are largely unknown due to the difficultly of obtaining…" she trailed off, scanning the page with her fingers. "Nothing interesting. Let's see…" Hermione perused the rest of the section on the myrtleweed. "Looks like it basically depends on the potion."

"Oh well," said Ginny. She looked up at Hermione with a suspicious gleam in her eye. "You were gone awhile."

Hermione refused to look at Ginny. "I ran into – him," she said carefully, trying to sound as though it meant nothing.

"At the library?"

Hermione shrugged. "Stranger things have happened." Then she chuckled to herself slightly, remembering that Draco had said the same thing to her not terribly long ago.

"And how did it go?"

"Pretty well, actually."

Ginny waited for Hermione to say more. "And?" she said after a moment.

"Well, it turns out I was wrong about him."

"So, is this a _guy,_ guy? As in someone you might bring over for dinner?"

Hermione laughed at the thought of showing up with Draco for dinner at the Weasleys. Then she reddened as the meaning of Ginny's question hit her. "Oh, Ginny, no! It was nice to be wrong, is all."

"Uh-huh," said Ginny in a voice that said she didn't buy it.

Hermione was in a wonderful mood that evening and all the next day. She told Ron the same piece of truth she'd told Ginny when he inquired about her chipper disposition. He seemed to accept Hermione's explanation better than Ginny, but he still gave her a wink when she denied any sort of other-than-friendly intentions.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny spent most of the day in Diagon Alley with Charlie in tow, stopping last at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, where they stayed until the shop closed. Hermione bought Harry and Draco some of the Nosebleed Nougat reversal pills for their training sessions, and Harry some trick tarts that turned the eater's head different colors. Fred and George accompanied the four to the Burrow, where Hermione regretfully declined to stay for dinner. She packed her things and said goodbye to the Weasleys; sincerely sad to leave their company.

At the same time, she was anxious to return to the Edge. It had grown on her, and she had missed the ocean and sleeping underneath the stars, the steady beat of the waves lulling her to sleep. Now that things between her and Draco were … different, and better, she was ready to resume her place in the house.

Hermione Apparated to the Edge and cautiously but happily opened the door. Instantly she was hit with a burst of delicious smells – dinner. She hurriedly set her things at the foot of the stairs and went into the kitchen.

"Hermione!" cried Harry, smiling like a cracked nut as he stood to hug his friend. He had missed her before her fight with Draco, and afterwards it was almost a physical pain to be so separated from all his dear friends.

"Hi, Harry!" she said, returning the gesture.

"You're just in time, we're about to start dinner," he said, getting her a plate and utensils. He wasn't sure what was going on, or why Hermione was back, but he wasn't about to ask questions that might make her or Draco remember that they hated each other.

Hermione cast Draco a sideways glance; he was looking pointedly at Harry, who was putting her plate at her usual spot.

"Thank you," said Hermione, sitting. She fixed her plate – green beans, roast chicken and bread – and poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice.

"So – are you back?" Harry asked, glancing between Hermione and Draco.

"Yes," she said, taking a bite of beans. They were awful. She frowned as she chewed, and noticed that Draco was watching her with an amused expression. It was odd; she didn't feel awkward around him, but at the same time she did. She had spared no time to the consideration of how they were supposed to act now.

"Who cooked?" she asked, trying to sound merely curious.

"I did," said Harry, brightly. "My first go; Draco insisted."

Hermione glanced at Draco, who was now frowning as he chewed his own bite of beans. "Merlin, Potter, what did you do to the beans, cook them in glue?"

Hermione couldn't help it; she laughed. The beans were indeed completely rubber, and they even made a squeaky sound when they rubbed against her teeth.

Harry glared at her, then Draco. "No, Malfoy, I didn't use glue. I – it was my first go at beans."

"Oh," Draco replied, conversationally. "There was a recipe; didn't I give it to you?"

"Yes," said Harry, testily.

"Just wondering."

"Sorry if they're not up to your usual standards," said Harry grumpily.

"It's no problem," Draco said, pleasantly, pushing the remainder of his beans around his plate.

Harry scowled; obviously he didn't appreciate comments about his cooking.

Hermione cut her chicken into bite-sized pieces, then put one in her mouth. She chewed… and chewed, and chewed, and chewed. It was like chewing very fatty meat, only it was chicken. She chewed pleasantly, bobbing her head slightly with every closing of her jaw, as though she were quite enjoying herself.

Then Draco laughed; he'd been watching her chew.

Harry looked at him, then Hermione, who only then swallowed her bite of chicken. "What?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"What?" Hermione said innocently. "I like chewy chicken."

Draco chuckled again.

"Fine," said Harry, standing and taking his plate. "Since you both dislike my cooking so much, I'm going to leave you two in here to eat. Together." He left, miffed, to eat on the porch.

Hermione and Draco looked at each other and burst out laughing. After a minute or two, Hermione calmed down enough to stand. She collected hers and Draco's plates, vanishing their contents.

"I'll fix us something else," she said, opening the cabinets. "What'll it be?"

"Um, there's not really much here…"

"Guess I need to go to the store."

"Harry and I were devising a method of selecting which owl we would eat first."

Hermione whipped her head around and gawked at him, but then she saw he was smiling slightly. "Was that a joke?" she asked, amusement in her voice.

Draco shrugged, but his eyes still shone.

Hermione shook her head. "Imagine that. You have a sense of humor."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Granger."

She eyed him, then went to the refrigerator. "We have… eggs."

"Sounds fine," said Draco.

Hermione quickly cooked a pan full of eggs, adding bits of onion, pepper and spices to the dish. Draco either watched her or stared out the window.

After the eggs were finished, Hermione put equal servings on two plates and returned to the table. She set one plate in front of Draco then sat down with her own plate.

Before taking a bite, Hermione looked at Draco. "Malfoy."

Draco looked up at her. "Yes?"

"Let's make a pact. We never let Harry cook again," she said, extending her hand for them to shake on it.

Draco looked at her hand a moment, then accepted it. "Deal." When their hands touched, this time willingly and more than a mere brush, a fierce jolt of energy ran through Hermione's arm. She pulled back quickly, and gave Draco a piercing stare. He acted as though nothing had happened, and set about eating his eggs.

After a moment, Hermione started eating too.

"What was your favorite thing about being in Gryffindor?" Draco asked after a minute.

Hermione looked at him, expecting him to tease her or say something pratty, but he looked at her with a blank expression. "Harry and Ron," she said after deciding he was trying to make conversation. "Becoming friends with them. How about you? What was your favorite thing about being in Slytherin?"

"Intimidating, terrorizing, and harassing younger students, and abusing any power I could get, of course," he said with a smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why did I bother asking? I should have known. "

"Your turn," said Draco.

"For what?"

"To ask a question."

"Oh. Okay. Let me think. What is your favorite thing about this place?"

Draco considered the question. "It's nothing like what I grew up with. Living here has forced me to learn things I would never have learned at the Manor. Like cooking, and cleaning, and washing. Granted, it's not that I love cleaning, but I feel…empowered when I do it."

Hermione giggled. "You like to clean."

"No," he said firmly, "I just like things to _be _clean. And so I must clean."

"When did you move here?" she asked.

"That's two questions."

"It's part of the first one."

"No, it's not."

She looked at him. "It's just an information question, though. It sounds like you were here before we came."

"I moved out of the Manor almost two years ago. If I was going to plot the downfall of my Master, I couldn't very well do it in my father's house."

"True," she said.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Then Draco asked, "What was your least favorite thing about Gryffindor?"

Hermione frowned as she thought. "I was always expected to be brave, but I wasn't always. I was really scared sometimes and couldn't show it. I had to be strong with Harry; he could break down, turn into a bratty teenager, but I had to maintain an air of certainty, as if no matter what, I knew how things would turn out. Which was ridiculous! I was just as scared as Harry and Ron, but I felt like I wasn't allowed to show it like they were."

Hermione blushed a little when she realized what she'd just told Draco Malfoy. She took a cautious bite. "And you?"

"Pansy. By far."

Hermione nearly spit out the bite she'd just taken. "What? I thought you two were …"

Draco made a disgusted face. "Oh, don't say it. Makes me sick just thinking about it."

Hermione laughed. "Come on, Malfoy, spill! Everyone thought – "

"Yes, I know what everyone thought, as they were meant to think. But I couldn't stand the girl. She was simpering and whiny and demanding and she never _got _the fact that I felt that way, no matter how many times I made it painfully obvious. It was easier to go along with her than try and tell her otherwise."

"I'm not sure what to say."

"Nothing. Just promise you'll never mention her again." He shuddered once more, and pushed his plate of unfinished eggs away. "I'm finished."

Hermione laughed again. "It bothers you that badly?"

"Yes."

"Okay," she said, still chuckling, "I won't mention Pansy Parkinson again. Never, ever, Pansy. No more Pansy."

He glared at her for using the girl's name excessively, and was about to make a smart retort when Harry returned. He saw Hermione smiling, Draco glowering – though without the usual malice, he noted; it was almost a playful glower – and unfinished eggs on both their plates.

"What are you two doing? Did you cook for him, Hermione?"

She looked up at Harry, still smiling. "We both decided we wanted something… softer to eat." Draco's glare was replaced with a smirk. "Yes, I made eggs, for both of us, and I cook all the time, it's nothing. Would you like some?"

But Harry could sense that it wasn't 'nothing'. Last he heard, they'd had a huge fight, and then Draco yelled at her – screamed, really – over the late delivery of a potion ingredient. And now, here they were, eating peacefully. It was obvious he'd missed something.

"No," he glowered. "I _ate _my dinner."

Draco stood. "Potter. Tomorrow we're doing a double session." Harry groaned. "I suggest you rest." He nodded to Hermione and retired to his room.

Harry turned to Hermione, who was busy cleaning the dishes, smiling to herself. "Guess I should stick to breakfast, huh?"

She smiled, but said nothing.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" he asked.

"Let's go outside," she said as she finished. "I haven't been out there in too long." Harry followed her onto the porch, where she sat in her favorite chair and he in the one next to hers.

When she didn't speak right away, Harry couldn't contain his curiosity. "So, what happened? I thought you two hated each other."

She looked at him. "Did he tell you about our fight?"

"Just that you had one, and that it was monstrous."

She nodded, turning back to look at the black water below. "It was. I came back yesterday to get a book, and he was here. Told me to follow him. We walked to the woods, and I don't know, something happened." Hermione returned her gaze to Harry. "I saw that I was wrong, and that he deserves a second chance. Nothing earth-shattering, but earth shattering at the same time. He didn't give me a huge speech about himself and his life or some sob story, or beg me to forgive him and offer that he was changed or anything. It was a bird, actually." She shook her head. "It's funny, but I kind of don't want to tell you about it. It's between him and me. Is that okay?"

"Of course, Hermione. I'm just glad that things are more pleasant between you two. It'll make things more pleasant around here too." He paused; "So, are you – friends?"

"No, at least, I don't think so. Maybe we're close to starting to be friends. I don't think I would mind starting."

Harry said nothing, and after a few minutes bade her goodnight.

Hermione was determined to stay awake until Draco came out to her. She thought about the conversation she'd just had with him – their first actual conversation in the ten years she'd known him. It was small, quite short, but it was a start. The idea of being civil, even pleasant, with him didn't seem so strange. And, what if they did become friends? Was that even possible? Draco Malfoy, friends with a Mudblood? She wasn't sure; surely they wouldn't be friends like she was friends with Harry and Ron.

She sat outside, thinking, for an hour. It started out pleasant and hopeful, but toward the end of the hour, realization sunk in. There would be no friendship with him. Tonight had been an aberration; it wouldn't happen again. Not because she didn't want it to, she did; but he was a lonely spirit. His strong desire for real companionship caused him to flee from it. In his mind it would be weakness; it would mean he was no longer completely independent, no longer able to think only of himself.

Friendship with her, of all people, would be the last thing on his mind. And they'd come close to being friendly tonight. What would he do, how would he act tomorrow? Would he be semi-friendly, like tonight, or would he do his best to remove any trace of kindness on his part from her memory? She guessed the latter.

Hermione yawned; she looked up toward Draco's window. His light was off; she frowned. Was he not coming? She yawned again and shivered, and decided to sleep in her bed for the night.

**ooo**

Draco woke the next morning feeling heavy. The night before he had refused to think about what had happened. He had read an entire book while waiting for Hermione to fall asleep. Now, as he lay on the brink of being awake, staring at the ceiling, the heavy feeling sank in like an anchor.

He saw, in flashing neon light with fireworks bursting overhead, what it would be like to be friends with Hermione. Actual friends. It scared him more than when he'd told the Dark Lord he had not been successful at killing Dumbledore; more than when he'd told his father that he didn't really believe that blood mattered anymore.

Draco didn't have friends, he never had. In school, he'd had followers, accomplices, bodyguards; never friends. Harry he counted as a reluctant and forced friend. Draco told him more than he had ever told anyone, shared parts of himself formerly left to the cobwebbed corners of his memory. By default, Harry was even his _best_ friend, since he was his only friend. At first, they'd worked tirelessly, barely speaking a word to each other beyond only those required.

Three weeks in, Harry had apparently been unable to take the silence. He talked to Draco, really talked; told him about Ginny, how much she meant to him, how every day he got out of bed for her, to rid the world of _him _for her. He rambled, and Draco listened, unwilling to share the emptiness that was growing in the pit of his stomach at the heartfelt way Harry talked about his wife.

He couldn't talk about _that_ hole, but three days later he told Harry about his mother. How she'd tried to have a good influence on him, tried to put something other than hate in his heart. She loved him, he knew, though it was an abstract understanding of the word, in part because Narcissa had never shown any signs of her love for her son. Those words had never escaped her lips. Yet Draco knew that she loved him, and knew it unwaveringly. Love for her had pushed him before and during his fated sixth year to follow his father's Dark path.

Draco had rambled and Harry had listened.

Then they were actual friends. He didn't talk about himself much, but he could, and he figured that's what made them friends. He trusted Harry Potter, and he'd never before really trusted anyone. It was good, then, that the trust came so relatively early. Because Draco and Harry would be called on to put their life in the other's hands, and there had to be trust. Or they would die.

Hermione was different. Being friends with her would be different. There was so much standing in the way of it, that if it were to happen, it would be a forever friendship, one that would last beyond now because of all they would have to overcome to get there. And Draco needed to be able to walk away in the end, to put them behind him and start life completely over.

He had come to care about Hermione. He fought it, at first, but soon gave up the struggle, seeing it was fruitless. First, there was her maddening stubbornness; it rivaled his own. There was her intelligence, also rivaling his own, though he felt confident he had an advantage over her, if only a slight one. There was her fierce loyalty and bravery, traits he admired but could not claim. He was loyal, to a point and brave, to a point. But he'd been sorted into Slytherin for a reason.

Draco respected Hermione, and even admired her. Not once since he set his plan in motion had she disappointed him or let him down. She'd angered him, and gotten under his skin, but even when she was late with the myrtleweed, he had to admit to himself that he'd practically set her up to fail. He could have easily asked for the ingredient a day before he needed it, but deep down he'd wanted her to mess up. Not his best moment.

Only her choice of a life path, becoming an Auror, had dimmed her brightness in his eyes. He knew it wasn't her passion, as he'd learned over the last two years. But she showed strength through everything, even doing a job she didn't hate, and he found that it was she who held Harry and Ron together, she who could whisper and be heard; she who could encourage and others be lifted; smile and others be warmed. Even he was warmed by it.

There was such a thin line between friendship and more; he wouldn't risk it. He couldn't do – that. He promised himself he wouldn't do – that. This was the girl he'd sworn to protect; surely that meant protecting her from himself too.

It would be easy, so easy; he could see it just over the edge of the world. Like where the ocean meets the sky. It would be like the sun, shining light into his dark, frozen world. The ice walls would melt; things would blood; birds would sing. It was so close, he could taste it on the tip of his tongue. But the inevitable would still happen; the sun would set, plunging him back into utter darkness and ice. Further than every before, because he had seen the sun; seen flowers bloom; heard the birds singing.

Maybe someday, he thought, after all this is over and I'm finished healing. Because he wanted to fall; he was human after all. But now was not the time, and he was resigned to the idea it might never happen, either for death of his body or death of his heart.

So he had to stop this spark of familiarity before it was too late, before there was any sign of the spark igniting. For him, he knew it would be something like a steam locomotive; slow to start, but utterly unstoppable once at full speed. Draco would be crushed under the weight that had already settled on him when he awoke, the weight that would only grow heavier. He had to push it away while there was time, while the weight was bearable.

Draco lay in bed, still staring at the ceiling, feeling awful. When he got up, he knew he would be indifferent toward Hermione at best, and it wasn't fair to her. She wouldn't understand that he couldn't allow things to move. He would not move; he would not change for her. This was about him, and she would only complicate things.

He didn't know it, but Hermione was laying in bed, staring at her ceiling, dreading rising as well. Draco wanted her to get up first, so he would be able to ignore her first. When he entered the room after her, he wouldn't have to look at her. If he was there first, he would look up when she entered, he knew he would. And he refused to. He would stay in his room all day if necessary.

Draco smirked as he heard Harry knock on Hermione's door. Always Harry between them.

"Hermione?" Harry said. "Come down and have breakfast with me." Draco didn't hear a response, but he heard her door open and two sets of footsteps descend the stairs.

Finally Draco got out of bed, cleaned himself for the day, and dressed. He felt the weight lessen as he opened his door and went down to the kitchen.

He didn't look at Harry or Hermione. He poured himself a cup of coffee and went out onto the porch. He let out a long breath; it was done, mostly.

It seemed to have worked, too. Hermione didn't spare him a glance over the next week. Even though it was exactly what Draco wanted (or at least, what he thought he wanted), an irritating worm started wiggling uncomfortably in his gut as her indifference continued. After all, he did care about her, in his own way, no matter how determined he was to ignore it. The worm started growing at the start of the second week and continued until Draco finally cracked.

One morning in that second week, he waited until Hermione came down for breakfast. He needed to test the waters; they were to be civil, but nothing more, not a grain of sand more.

"Granger," he said after she'd recovered from her shock of finding him uncharacteristically in the kitchen.

"Malfoy," she said, indifferently.

He stood, indicating that he was finished with his meal and only moments away from being somewhere else. It was important for her to understand that this would not be a conversation, would not be anything more than what he determined it would be. "I want a report of your progress. Tonight, after dinner."

"Okay," she said, nodding and taking a sip of orange juice. She took a bowl of oatmeal and brushed past him to sit at the table. She spared him no glance, no glare, no further acknowledgement; nothing.

Draco was left standing, feeling as if his presence had lingered a moment too long to accomplish the affect he'd intended. Now it looked as though he wasn't sure of himself. He saw Hermione crack the tiniest hint of a smile as she stirred the oatmeal in her bowl. Draco left the room, highly frustrated. She was playing the game too well; it left him unnerved. How did she _know_ about the game? How c_ould_ she know? He didn't see how, but she must know. The game had been ignoring her, but it wasn't really a game. It was serious. If things got out of hand, it could, potentially, mean the failure of their efforts, and that was something he was completely unwilling to risk.

She hadn't approached him once since that night when they'd laughed over Harry's cooking, hadn't tried talking to him. She just left him alone. She was smart; she must have known his intention to put distance between them and beat him to it. The silence was deafening, and he found that he wanted something from her. It couldn't be friendship, and indifference was killing him. That left only animosity, which they'd agreed to put aside. And he really didn't want that anyway. How could he get enough from her to satisfy the worm in his gut, but not too much to push either side, friendship or hostility, too far?

That night, Hermione presented her progress to Harry and Draco. She went all out, in typical Hermione fashion, with handouts, charts, and statistics. Draco fought hard to keep the amusement out of his features and was mostly successful, but he couldn't hide the sparkle in his eyes. Hermione looked at him once during the entire presentation and he was sure she'd seen it.

"Just last week I finished going through all the Ministry's files on Death Eaters. I took copious notes," she held up four Muggle notebooks, "and as I progressed, started to see some similarities, of which I made note as I found them."

Harry smiled. "Now what, Hermione?"

"I will try to do as suggested and decide who will run, fight, or turn themselves in. The group of most concern is the fighters, since they could prove rash and their actions endanger innocents. Think Bellatrix and Rodolphus last time Voldemort 'died'. The runners should prove difficult to find, but I have found that intelligence isn't an attribute highly desired by Voldemort in the majority of his followers. Strength and cruelty seem to be top on his list."

"The ones who turn themselves in, claiming the _Imperius_, will be difficult in their own right, because it will be a lot of work sorting out who was truly a Death Eater and who was truly under the _Imperius_. It is my goal to collect evidence on each person I place in the 'turner' group that will show which alternative is the reality."

As Hermione continued talking, she completely ignored Draco; she only looked at Harry, only talked to Harry, never even acknowledging Draco's presence. It angered the worm in his gut and he became increasingly annoyed. Eventually, about forty minutes into the progress report, he'd had quite enough of being ignored.

"…And I think I'll have good results after talking to Alastor." Hermione stopped talking and looked expectantly at Harry.

"So, basically, you've done a whole lot of nothing," said Draco.

Finally Hermione looked at Draco, an utterly blank expression on her face, as if she'd just noticed he was there but for all she cared he could have been a fish bowl. The blank look lasted a few seconds, then the look turned hostile. She opened her mouth to speak, but Draco held up his hand. The worm had been sated for now, or else knew it was going to be soon, and Draco did not want to fight with her.

"Easy, Granger; I didn't mean it. You're doing an excellent job, which is not at all surprising."

Hermione blushed at the rare praise and looked into her lap. A flicker of… pain? … passed over her eyes, and she looked at Harry who smiled at her. Stupid mind reading. Then Hermione looked at Draco.

"Thank you," she said, "I have enjoyed my task so far, and it really feels like I'm doing something useful. It's nice."

Draco wanted to smile; she had opened up just a little, testing _him, _this time. What he did next would determine the atmosphere between them for the coming weeks, or until one of them decided to test the waters again. If he went too soft, he was in danger. If he went too hard, they'd be back to ignoring each other. He just didn't know how to reach the median. In the end, what choice did he really have?

He stood to leave the room. "It will be very useful to the Ministry. They will be grateful for a plan of action during a chaotic time." Draco nodded to Harry, who rolled his eyes, and left the room before he could hear, see or sense a reaction from Hermione.

He had made the easy, self-preserving decision. The worm would just have to get used to the situation and make the most of whatever intermittent contact would follow.

Draco was nearly up the stairs when she called his name. He turned around; she was standing, arms crossed, a few steps below him.

"Granger."

"Look, Malfoy, I know what this is, what you're doing, and it's stupid. I'm not asking anything from you, I expect nothing from this. If this is how you want it to be, then – then fine. But it's stupid."

"You're the one who's been ignoring me and acting like I don't exist," he said matter-of-factly. He wasn't angry, just giving her details. "This is how _you_ want it."

"You started it," she said with a glorious smirk. Draco nodded, remembering that he had indeed been the first to ignore the other, that morning with the coffee. She continued, "And I actually don't like ignoring you. It's stupid and childish; we're adults."

"So what do you want?" Draco asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the stairwell. A few strands of hair fell into his eyes and he swatted them away. "I have no intention of joining you and Potter for pajama parties."

"I just want to be – myself. And you be you. And we just let whatever happens, happen."

Draco frowned. A lot could be admitted behind the term 'whatever,' though he doubted highly that she truly meant that 'whatever' could mean 'anything'.

"Whatever. You want whatever."

"Yes. It's unnatural to ignore you completely; it's forced. I have to make an effort, as I'm sure you do. I want things between us to be natural, even if its being snippy. If you want to say 'hi', then you say 'hi'. And if I want to say 'hi', I will. If you don't, then don't; same for me. Okay?"

Draco peered into her deep brown eyes. To him, there were only two courses available – animosity and the other way, as ignorance was no longer an option. They couldn't just be barely acquaintances. He knew there was danger in it, at least for him. However, he didn't want animosity, he'd already decided that. So, that other path was the only one left. He would simply have to guard himself. He could control how far down that path he moved, and if it became too dangerous he could always turn back.

"Okay," he said blandly.

Then Hermione smiled, the first one ever directed at, for and because of, him. It was something strange to behold, how so simple an act could provoke such complicated emotions to course through his veins. Draco felt a small piece of himself lost forever to that moment, to that smile. He refused to lose another piece, but found himself unable to break away from her gaze. Slowly, he felt his face soften – against his will – and he felt another piece of himself threaten to tumble. She keeps smiling, he thought with frustration. Time had ceased to move in normal fashion, and that moment lasted a day or a second.

"Okay," she said, after only a few seconds. "Okay. Well, uhm, I'm going back down now, so…" she trailed off and slowly turned around.

Draco heard himself say something. "Granger." He'd said her name; she stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at him. Then Draco's mouth acted completely independently of his mind and will. He felt himself starting to say something more, and he fought, he really did. But it didn't work.

"Hi."

She stole another piece of him when she smiled again, all for him; again. "Hi," she replied, softly, as though if she were to speak any louder the moment, this fragile peace they'd forged, would shatter. Then she walked out of his sight.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Hope you liked! I know there were probably some things that didn't make sense, but they're hints of things to come. So stick around! And thanks as always for reading - seriously, love you all:)


	16. All Families Are Psychotic

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter...

**Note: **Chapter title borrowed from a book, Douglas Coupland. I haven't read the book, though, I just know the title. :) And of note: new review record for chapters 14 and 15: 33 each! I'm shooting for 40 on this one. LOL. Anyway, enjoy! And a reminder: I want to post the next five chapters over the next two weeks, with the aim of posting the Christmas chapter on Christmas.

**ooo****  
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**Chapter 16 – All Families Are Psychotic**

Hermione smiled as she woke, the cool November breeze brushing her cheeks. She loved waking up on the porch, and so far, not one night passed that Draco didn't check on her when she slept outside. Not even last night, when she'd waited in her room until she saw his light go out. Yet there she was, resting comfortably on the large swing under his warm cloak.

She sighed and sat up, wrapping the cloak tightly around her to keep the cold air away. Hermione allowed herself a brief smile over Draco's 'hi' from the night before. But she knew the tenuous mood wouldn't last. It was clear to her he was trying very hard to keep himself distanced from her, and she didn't know why, but she wasn't ready to be bothered by it, either.

It occurred to Hermione then that the man who'd made her smile that morning was the man who'd killed her parents. That realization always seemed to strike her at the oddest times, usually in the morning when she was almost awake, but not asleep, as though the truth were clearer then, before other things happened to confuse it. Draco Malfoy had killed her parents. And it felt like a dishonor to their memory to smile over him. So she stopped.

Even though it was a weekend, Hermione went in to work. She had a few projects to finish, and she wanted an uninterrupted day to attend to her Malfoy task, as she came to call it. She was just settling in at her desk for a long, quiet day, when she heard the door to the Auror Headquarters open. She looked up and was surprised to see Seamus, and two other Aurors, and she knew none of them were scheduled to work that weekend.

They made a good deal of noise, talking in clipped tones and rushing about the office. Hermione's curiosity overcame her desire for diligence at that moment, and she went to Seamus' desk where he was gathering files.

"What's going on?" she asked.

He jumped, so deep had been his concentration. "You surprised me, Hermione. What are you doing here?"

"Working. And I'm sorry I startled you."

"It's okay." He sighed and frowned. "We've brought in Andromeda Tonks."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Seamus gave her a look that clearly said he was _not _happy. "Taylor, you know him? He's head over the prisoner division. Well, he wanted to do _something._ He heard that she's been visiting the Malfoy home and thinks she will be a good source of information."

"Oh, that's awful. So, has she actually _done _something worthy of detainment?"

Seamus scowled. "Of course not. She's as squeaky clean as you are."

"What reason do they give for holding her?"

"Association. But really, they want her to give us information on Narcissa, since she only goes there when Lucius is out. Which is why _I _got called in on a weekend. I have to go, Hermione. I'm sorry. They're holding her here until she's questioned."

"Then what?" Hermione asked, getting angry at the tactics of the Ministry.

He shrugged. "Depending on how well she cooperates? Release at best, Azkaban at worst."

"I highly doubt that she's involved in anything underhanded, much less Dark, but I also doubt she'd sell out her sister. No matter what."

"I honestly don't know. Andromeda Tonks has always been in the very low-risk group, but she's labeled because of her family ties. I really have to go, though I'd be happy to tell you all about it over lunch, if you're interested."

"May I come?" Hermione asked, not missing his attempt at asking her out again.

"Oh. Uh, sure. Let's go then." They walked quickly to the interrogation room. Taylor was waiting for Seamus outside.

"Finnigan. You know what we want," he said roughly, ignoring Hermione.

"And what if she doesn't have any information?"

"She's got _something _we can use. Just get me that something."

Seamus nodded grimly and opened the door for Hermione to enter before him. She was a little excited. She'd barely heard anything about this member of the Black family, who had against the traditional pureblood norms. Hermione already respected the woman.

Andromeda Tonks was sitting at the table in pure black robes, arms crossed, and smirking slightly. Her hair was bright red and shoulder length, her eyes green, like Narcissa's. The tendency toward brightly colored hair must have been something Tonks picked up from her mother. She looked up at them and rolled her eyes.

Seamus ignored it and sat down across the table. "Andromeda Tonks. My name is Seamus Finnigan, and this is Hermione Granger." Andromeda's gaze darted to Hermione, and she cocked an eyebrow, obviously curious, but said nothing. "Do you know why you're here, Mrs. Tonks?"

"Sure do," she replied, confidently.

Seamus obviously hadn't expected that response. "And why is that?"

She shrugged. "Because the Ministry hasn't had any good news lately, and I guess I'm an easy target. You want someone in here so you can say you're doing something."

Hermione couldn't help but smile, her admiration growing.

"Erm, not exactly," said Seamus, unable to look Andromeda in the eye when he said it.

"I know what you want from me – something on my sister. Well, I've got nothing to say. But are you going to believe me? No. Are you going to let me go? No. So let's not waste each other's time, what do you say?"

"Mrs. Tonks. It doesn't have to be this way. All we want is something, anything; it can even be small."

Andromeda merely continued to stare at Seamus.

"Excuse us," said Hermione, standing. Seamus wordlessly followed her into the hall. "Seamus, let me try."

He frowned. "You think you can get her to talk?"

Hermione shrugged. "Can't hurt to try, and you weren't going to get anything."

Seamus sighed and nodded.

Hermione went into the room alone.

"For the record," she said, sitting. "We are not being observed." Andromeda made no response. "Whatever you tell me is at my discretion to relay."

"Why is your name familiar to me?"

"There are two possible reasons. I am friends with Harry Potter, and your daughter."

Andromeda smiled then. "How is she?"

"I haven't seen her recently, but she was doing well a few months ago. May I call you Andromeda?" The other woman hesitated, then nodded. "And please, call me Hermione. Andromeda, I happen to agree with you on why you're here. I think the Ministry is desperate for something positive to report. That being said, unfortunately, I do not think you're going to get out of here unless you give them something."

Andromeda's gaze was piercing, and Hermione felt like she was trying to read her brain. "Do you work here, Hermione?"

"Yes, I do."

"I find it curious that you so easily speak against your employer."

"I have not always seen eye to eye with Ministry tactics, and they are well aware of the fact. This job is a means to an end."

"Voldemort."

"Yes," was Hermione's reply.

"There's nothing to tell," Andromeda said, looking around the room.

"I know what a difficult position you are in. Narcissa is your sister, and I'm sure you hold strong ties of loyalty to her, despite your history. I also highly doubt that your visits with her have anything to do with Voldemort."

Andromeda blinked when Hermione said her sister's name. "I've never, in probably twenty-five years, heard anyone say her name without backing it with contempt or hatred. Until you said it, just now."

Hermione wasn't sure what to make of the comment, so she remained silent.

Andromeda continued. "I hadn't seen Narcissa since the birth of her son. I'd long been disowned by my family, but I desperately wanted to see her on such a momentous occasion. I snuck into her house one night when I knew Lucius was otherwise occupied. She cried when she saw me, but barely spoke to me. Bella was there too, and forced me to leave. I was there less than five minutes.

"A few months ago I received an owl her, inviting me, ever so cordially, to tea. But I knew my sister would not simply invite me to tea; there was something drastically wrong, and she needed something. I debated going, and my desire to see her finally overcame my doubts. She was quite a mess when she finally let down the perfect-Malfoy façade.

"She was worried about her son, about Draco. You know him, isn't that right?"

"Yes. We went to school together." Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that even though she was the one asking questions, Andromeda was the one getting the information.

"Apparently, no one knows where he is, not even Lucius. And all he tells her is that Draco is working for their Master, that he is fine, and not to worry. But Cissa does worry, and she doesn't believe Lucius."

"So you went to visit your sister and she told you she was upset about her son."

"Yes. I've been back several times, and all we do is have tea. I've never even been beyond the front room. Narcissa is a very intelligent witch, though few know it. She anticipated that at some point, this might happen, and she wanted to give me as little trouble as possible, considering the risk I took every time I visited, not only from the Ministry, but also from Bella. If _she _found out, things would not be pretty."

"You've had tea with Narcissa a few times over the last few months. What did you talk about?"

"Surely you are aware, even as an outsider, of the perfect image she is required to present. She feels she can only truly grieve and worry in my presence. Lucius would never allow her to cry, even over their son, but with me, she can cry and it's okay. She calls for me when she needs to cry. That is all, I swear it. Nothing Dark is ever discussed, not even Draco's affiliation with it. All she talks about is missing him, and worrying about him."

Before Hermione stopped to think, she said, "I wasn't aware that Narcissa cared very much for her son."

Andromeda looked surprised. "I see. And what would give you that impression?"

Hermione was squirming inside, not really sure of how to get out of this. Malfoy had mentioned his mother only in passing, and very dismissively, as if she wasn't worth even thinking about. "Just, from what I knew of Malfoy in school," she said, pleading with herself that her unease would not show.

"Were you friends with Draco?"

"Oh, not at all. We quite hated each other, actually."

"Interesting. Well, Hermione, are we done here?"

With a sigh of relief, Hermione said, "Yes, I think so. I will tell them you have no valuable information."

"Hermione, don't you think it's ironic that they can arrest me for associating with my sister, the wife of a known Death Eater, but they won't arrest her?"

Hermione frowned. "It certainly doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't. Thank you, and if you see Nymphadora, tell her I said hello, and that she needs to bring my grandson by very soon."

"I will," said Hermione with a smile. "And thank you, for talking to me."

Andromeda nodded regally, all the proper, pureblood upbringing evident in her every move.

**ooo**

At nearly dinnertime, Draco left the ledge, where he sometimes went to meditate or be alone with the sea, and returned to the house. He looked for either Harry or Hermione, and found the former in the drawing room. He continued through the house, looking for the latter, but with no success.

"Where's Granger?" he asked, joining Harry in the drawing room.

Harry looked up. "Still at work, I guess."

"She's been gone all day."

"I know."

"I think it's time for Hermione to quit the Ministry," said Draco, with a tone of finality.

Harry put down his book and looked at Malfoy skeptically. "Oh?"

"I think she spends too much time there. She could get more work done for us if she didn't have to do _actual_ work too."

"I don't think she'll agree with you," said Harry.

"I am not concerned with that. I have decided it's for the best."

"Might this have something to do with a certain Irish bloke who fancies her?" Harry asked, not looking at him.

Draco's jaw tightened, and he glared at Harry. "Absolutely not," he growled, through clenched teeth. "I have noticed that her load at work has increased, and her research for me has dropped off."

"And that's all," Harry said, disbelieving.

"Yes, Potter. End of discussion."

"Still. Maybe you should wait to say anything to her. Give her a little time to sort out her work stuff. It could just be a busy time, that will slow down soon."

"Perhaps," said Draco. He was fine with giving her more time, especially if it helped remove Harry's ridiculous suspicions.

Draco was about to leave when Harry said, "You do that every night, don't you?"

"Do what?" Draco asked.

"Check on her."

Draco felt panic rise in him. His actions were not open for discussion, not now, not ever. He kept his composure visibly, and just shrugged. "Yes, when she sleeps outside." Harry nodded with a _very _smug expression on his face. "Watch it, Potter. I'm just used to watching out for her. I'm a little protective."

"Uh-huh," said Harry, still smug.

Draco was now getting angry, a little. Mostly, he was concerned at what Harry might be getting at. There was _nothing _to discuss, and Draco needed to make sure Harry was aware of that fact.

"Potter, you know about all of that. Now shut it before you say something you'll regret."

Harry stood and approached Draco, who was still standing. Harry was _slightly _taller than Draco, and even though he knew Draco would never be afraid of him, he tried his very best to be intimidating.

"Draco, Hermione doesn't need another brother."

Very cautiously, Draco said, "What do you mean?"

"She has me and Ron, and we're brother enough to her. She needs more than that."

Draco couldn't be sure, but it sounded an awful lot like Harry was telling him to _be more _to Hermione. Why he would suggest such a thing was beyond him. Nevertheless, despite his brain telling him that Harry was being absurd, Draco's heart start beating a little faster.

Always composed on the outside, Draco cocked an eyebrow and said, "I'm not sure I follow."

"She saved you, right? Her presence, even though she wasn't actually in your life, saved you." Draco nodded slowly. "Well, she needs saving too."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Harry got right in Draco's face, and looked him square in the eye. Not afraid of him at all. "If you hurt her, I will hunt you down and nearly kill you. Badly. And Ron and Ginny will be with me. Understand?"

Draco scowled at Harry, and made no response.

"Are. We. Clear?" Harry asked in staccato.

"There's nothing to be clear _about_."

"Just in case, then. Should there ever come a time when we need to be clear. Now. Tell me just how clear we are?"

"What is with you, anyway? You insinuate that you want something between her and me, and then you threaten me? Make up your mind; which is it? You're either okay with it, or you're not."

Harry glared at him. "I _know _you. I know what all of this is about. I think you need her, and I'm okay with that, but you are also very likely to do something monumentally stupid."

Draco scoffed, but stopped before he said anything. Harry was right; he probably _would_ do something stupid. _IF. _And if was a pretty big word. "You're either okay with it, or you're not," he repeated.

"Part of me isn't ready to completely trust you with her."

"Well, I have good news, then. You don't have to worry about it."

Harry grabbed Draco's arm as he tried to walk past. "But, for the record."

Draco shoved Harry away with a growl. "Get off it, Potter."

"I mean it, Malfoy. You will answer me, this time. I'm not playing around."

"Fine!" Draco shouted. "We're clear. I get it. Don't hurt her, or you'll hurt me. We're crystal. But Potter, nothing is _ever _going to happen, so I assure you that you're being absurd for no reason."

"You're just as scared as she is!" Harry yelled back.

"No! I am _not _scared, especially not of Hermione. I'm just not stupid. Am _I _clear?" Draco didn't wait for an answer. He stormed out of the house, his thoughts spinning, his hunger completely forgotten.

**ooo**

Hermione returned to the Edge late that night, tired and hungry. She went into the kitchen and made herself a quick sandwich, intending to eat it and then go to bed. She was half-way through when Draco returned to the house.

He entered the kitchen, and saw her sitting at the table. He scowled, his emotions still in turmoil from his earlier confrontation with Harry.

She looked up, and gave him a smile, which only worsened his mood.

"You're awfully late," he said with as much meanness as he could.

"Things were – busy – today," she said simply.

"Oh," he said, and went to leave the room.

"They arrested your Aunt today," Hermione said as he was almost through the room.

Draco stopped and turned to her. "Which one?"

"Andromeda."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Because she's been spending time with your mother."

Draco sat down, lost in thought. "Do you have any idea what they suspect her of?"

Hermione shook her head, and let some anger into her tone. "They just want to see results, and she just happens to be easily accessible. She hasn't done anything wrong."

He was surprised at her sudden change in tone. "You seem upset."

The sandwich was momentarily forgotten. "The Ministry hasn't been too successful lately, so they pull a Stan Shunpike and lock up someone who is completely innocent! Granted, she's been seeing you mother, but who is her _sister._ There is absolutely no crime in that! And after talking with her, they _still _want to hold her, because she won't tell them anything they might be able to use. But she doesn't _have _anything they might be able to use. She has _tea _with her _sister._ End of story. There are no Dark dealings, nothing even remotely close."

"You know, Granger. It _is _extremely odd that Andromeda would visit my mother. I know they're sisters, but in all my life, they've never interacted. So I can see why the Ministry would be suspicious."

Hermione shook her head. "Do you _want _her locked up for something she hasn't even done?"

"Of course not, but – "

"Then what's your problem? You're defending their actions!" She was yelling now, and it occurred to Draco that before his day was complete, he might have had a shouting match with each of his housemates.

"I am _not _defending them, Granger," he said, as calmly as possible. "I am simply telling you why they have good cause to be suspicious."

"Well I certainly didn't get the impression that she was hiding anything."

Draco blinked. "You talked to her?"

"Yes."

"What did she say?"

"She just told me why she's been visiting your mother. And her reason wasn't good enough for Taylor."

"Who's Taylor?"

"Seamus' boss. He was the one who wanted her brought in for questioning. Seamus wasn't having any success, so I tried."

Draco couldn't prevent the feeling of having a wriggling green monster deep in his gut. He was _not _jealous. He wasn't. "And? Why did she say they get together?"

"Apparently, your mum is quite upset over you. She is worried to no end about you, and she can't express her feelings around anyone, so she calls on Andromeda."

Something shifted in Draco's mind. His mother was _worried _about him? "That sounds incredibly suspicious to me," he said finally.

Hermione's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"You don't know my mother. If you did, you would be concerned. She isn't the type of person to worry, especially about _me._"

"She's your _mother_, though. All mothers worry about their children."

"She may have given birth to me, but she's never exactly been the motherly type. I can't help but wonder what they're _really_ doing."

"I can't believe this. You actually think Andromeda was lying."

"You just met her, I assume. What you do not know is that she is an extremely special witch. She has the ability to see behind the words people say, to see what they're saying without all the cloaks they put around their words. She's highly intuitive, and brilliant. There's absolutely no fooling her. She can manipulate her own words to say the exact truth, but still be hiding the truth completely." He paused, and looked at Hermione. "She probably knows you've been around me."

"But – how could she? I was careful to avoid exactly that."

He shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "Like I said. She's gifted. Did you mention me?"

"You were part of the entire conversation."

"Did _you _mention _me_, though?"

"Well, yes."

"It's likely she heard something in your tone."

"How would you know? Do _you _know her?"

He paused, considering whether he should answer honestly. He decided the truth could cause no harm. "Yes, I do."

"How?"

"That is not something I am willing to discuss. She is my Aunt, you know."

"Yes, but if your mother hadn't seen her since you were born, why have you?"

"Again, I am not going to answer. I would ask only that you not assume she was being completely truthful."

"Do you find it so hard to believe that your own mother would worry about you? What about that Vow she took with Snape? Doesn't that _prove_ that she cares about you?"

That question made him uneasy. He'd never been able to reconcile the woman he'd grown up with and her action in making the Vow; seemingly for the sole purpose of protecting him. He never wanted to entertain the thought that she was anything other than what she'd been his whole life – absent, distant, and cold. If she made any action that indicated otherwise, he was automatically suspicious.

"No, it doesn't prove anything. I have no idea why she did that. And I don't know why they're meeting now, but it is _not _because she is concerned about _me. _Surely Lucius has told her enough to keep her content."

"Andromeda said that Lucius wasn't very forthcoming in his information."

"I'm telling you, Granger, that my mother worrying about me _cannot _be the reason for their visits," he said, frustrated.

"And I'm telling you, Malfoy, that I believed her. You weren't there! She talked to me when she wouldn't talk to Seamus because I said your mother's name, and she said it was without malice. So she opened up with me. I _believe_ her."

Draco narrowed his eyes. As he knew Andromeda to be very perceptive, this new piece of information was not surprising. "I'm sorry, but I cannot help but doubt."

"It's terrible that you find it so impossible to believe something good about your mother. She loves you. She might not show it, she might not have ever said it, but it's true. No mother can hate her own child."

He frowned, and stood. "This conversation is over. You don't know what you're talking about, and you shouldn't presume to know anything about my family." Then he stalked out of the room.

Hermione groaned in frustration and tried to finish her sandwich, but she was so worked up that she could only manage a few more bites. She went to the sink to wash her dishes, and after a few minutes, heard someone enter the room.

"Granger."

She turned and looked at him.

"I don't want anything to happen to my mother. I don't want her sent to Azkaban."

"You said yourself, she is worthy of it."

"I know. But – I don't want her to be sent there. I want you to ensure that it does not happen, once this is all over."

"Malfoy, what do you think I can do about it?"

"I don't know, but I know you can." His forehead creased into lines of worry, and his eyes betrayed worry of their own. "Please – Hermione," he said in a soft, almost pleading voice. "Will you try?"

Something happened inside of her when he said her name. She thought she might just do anything he asked if he only said it like that, and it scared her terribly to realize it.

He must have thought she would say no, because he said, "She's my mother, like you said. And – I want her to be safe."

"I'll try," she said, her heart pounding over what she'd felt a moment earlier. His face relaxed, and he almost smiled at her. Then it changed, and it looked as if he was thinking hard about something. He frowned, and looked at her with so much intensity she thought he'd bore holes through her eyes. She cocked her head, and realized what he was trying to say, without saying it.

"You're welcome," she said, and he reddened, nodded, and walked out of the room.

**oo****o**

**A/N: **What did you think? Thanks for reading! Help me get to 40:)


	17. Soon Enough

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter... (Do I need to keep saying that?)

**Note: **Enjoy! And THANK YOU! I got my 40 reviews - just under the wire, too! I got the last two when I signed on to post this chapter. Thanks everyone! Made my WHOLE night:)**  
**

**Chapter 17 – Soon Enough**

Five days later, Hermione was sitting outside on the porch, writing in her journal. She heard a noise above her, and looked up to see a colorful bird land in a second-story window. She watched as Malfoy opened the window to allow the bird entry. The Wizarding world primarily used owls for their posts, but on occasion other birds were used. Hermione remembered Harry telling her that Sirius had once used an exotic bird.

Hermione had never seen such a bird come to the Edge before, and she was instantly both curious and suspicious. She hesitated a moment before running inside to confront Malfoy about it. She left her book by the chair and went inside.

"Blasted bird," he said, sucking his finger where the bird had bitten him. He untied the letter from its leg and opened it hastily.

_Dear Draco,_

_Thank you for the update. We were starting to worry when a week passed with no word from you. We are glad to hear that Harry has apparently given his blessing to you concerning our daughter, however violently it was mentioned. Please do not take it lightly; you of all people should know how much Harry means to her._

_We are perfectly set in the way of provisions, but Steve requests a book called, "Electrical Wiring for Dummies." It can be found in most large Muggle bookstores. Once he's finished reading it, I'm sure he'll be asking for electrical equipment. Don't worry, we'll send you a detailed list of what we need._

_We cannot express in words often enough just how grateful we are to know that Hermione is being taken care of. We can sleep well at night knowing she is in good hands. _

_We look forward to seeing you at Christmas._

_Us_

Draco wrote a quick reply, promising to send the book as soon as possible, then tied the letter to the bird's leg and sent it off. He left his room to get lunch downstairs and found Hermione standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, looking at him questioningly.

"What now?" he asked.

"What was that bird?"

"Toucan, I think," he said, and started to walk toward the stairs.

"Where did it come from?" she asked, not moving or missing a beat.

"What's with the questions? I don't have to answer to you."

"Were you writing those people? In New Zealand?"

"Yes, not that it is any business of yours."

"They were Muggles."

Bugger. "So?" he said, as if he wrote to Muggles everyday and everyone knew it.

"So, why are you using a bird to write Muggles? And anyway, I thought you hated Muggles."

"As I've said before, there's a lot you don't know about me, and it causes you to wrongly assume. For example, I would like to go and eat lunch now. In addition, you are in my way." He gently moved her aside, careful not to touch her skin, and started down the stairs.

"You're not getting off that easy," she said, following him.

He rolled his eyes, but continued toward the kitchen, not speaking to her. He went through the kitchen, fixing himself a sandwich, while across from him Hermione stood watching. Draco sat down and started eating, and she sat down at the table facing him.

When he was halfway through his sandwich, Hermione said, frustrated, "Okay, you win. Happy? Now, please tell me."

He finished chewing. "No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Why?"

"I'm curious."

"Tough."

"Please."

"No. And no amount of pleases will get me to answer you. May I finish my lunch in peace?" He enjoyed the times they bickered, because now they weren't full of hate. They were mostly in good fun, at least for him. His words and retorts did not have the bite or the hard edge they once did when he talked with her. He usually left the interaction feeling better than he had before.

"No," she said, crossing her arms.

He closed his eyes, secretly relishing making her so annoyed. "Tell you what. You come visit me on my island in 20 years, bring that chocolate cake, two cherries this time for knocking off ten years, and then I'll tell you." He took another bite and proceeded to ignore her.

After a few minutes, she groaned because she knew she wouldn't get an answer from him. "Urgh!" she yelled. "You make me want to scream!"

He looked at her innocently. "Me? Why, Granger?" then he took another bite.

Hermione stood from the table and huffed back outside.

**ooo**

Since his conversation with Harry on Sunday, Draco spent the week watching Hermione with respect to her work habits. He noticed that she spent a ridiculous amount of time at work, then came home and usually worked until midnight. The next day, she did the same exact thing. He and Harry weren't working nearly as hard as she was, even though their work was much more physically exhausting.

That night at dinner, Draco broached the topic of Hermione quitting.

"Granger. How is work?"

She looked at him, curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, how are you doing with your workload?"

"Oh. Uhm, fine, I guess."

"How has your productivity for your task here been?"

"It's slowed a bit," she admitted, putting down her fork. "Why?

"I think you should quit at the Ministry."

She frowned. "Really?"

"Yes. I think you should focus on the Death Eater task. The time for the conclusion of our activities draws ever nearer."

"But it's that job that helps me get the information I need to work on my task. How will I stay up to date with what's going on?"

Harry spoke. "You've finished going through the Death Eater files, so there shouldn't be much you need from the office. The rest is deciding about which group they go in."

"True, I suppose it's okay. It's been nice having those files so readily available, though. Things change, and we get more information all the time."

"How are the groupings coming?" Draco asked.

"Slowly, especially since my Auror work has been so demanding. I've barely started with it. I have the three main groups, and I started with the easy ones. Your family, actually."

Draco quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly. "Oh, do tell, Granger."

She smiled. "Well, let's see. Your father will be in the turn-in group, Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan will fight, your mother will be taken for questioning but released, and Ted and Andromeda Tonks are not to be involved."

Hermione didn't miss the look that crossed Draco's features when she described the outcome for Narcissa; he looked grateful, and there was a softness she'd never seen before. It made her insides squirm, and though she wanted to, she couldn't tear her eyes from his.

"What about me?" Draco said, still looking at her with that softness.

"You're still in the unknown group," she said, quietly.

The softness vanished, breaking the spell, and he smirked at her. "I'm a runner, of course."

Hermione quickly looked away from him and said, "Even with a full pardon?"

"A tropical paradise awaits me."

"But with a full pardon, you'd be free to walk around, do whatever you want, go wherever you want."

"And every single person I meet will run from me; cross to the other side of the street; hide their children from me. Smile politely, when in fact they're trembling in fear, a fear I can smell. No, that's no life for me."

"If you did more, if you helped people, _did _for others, showed them that you're – "

"What?" he sneered. "Different? Changed? Do you think I'm changed?" he asked, his voice almost a shout.

"I – I don't know. Sometimes I do," she said timidly.

He blinked, astonished. "Really?" She nodded. "Fool," he said, bitingly, peering into her eyes, daring her to challenge him.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears and she ran from the table.

"Why did you say that, Malfoy?" asked Harry, angrily. "You _are_ changed."

"I may be different, but I'm hardly what you'd consider completely reformed, don't you agree?" Draco asked. "And I don't want her thinking any differently."

"Why not? What harm would it do? Are you afraid she'll get under your skin? Afraid she might _mean _something to you?"

Draco scowled. "Not this again, Potter."

"_Yes_, this again, Malfoy."

"No, Potter," he said, quietly. Maybe it was because he was tired, but he didn't have the energy to deny Harry's accusations. "I'm quite aware of your opinion on the matter, and don't need to hear it again. I don't know what will happen in our work, or how it will end, and I don't want her to become attached and then something happen."

"Or for you to become attached."

Again, Draco merely glared at him.

"Like I said before, you're just scared."

"No. I'm looking after her, like I promised."

"And scared."

Draco was tired of this conversation, and Harry was right, after all. "Maybe a little."

**ooo**

Hermione quit her job on Monday as suggested, though she didn't inform Harry or Malfoy. From the Ministry, she went straight to Flourish and Blotts, applied there, and was hired on the spot. She would start on the coming Thursday, which meant she had a few days off. After the conversation in which Malfoy had called her a fool, Hermione avoided him. She berated herself for letting it get to her; she _knew _he was different, and she shouldn't have let what he said bother her.

Nonetheless, _he _had been out of line; _he _would have to make it right.

After leaving Flourish and Blotts, Hermione went to see Ron and Ginny at the Burrow and stayed with them for a couple of days. The time she spent with her friends was precious time, and Ron made her laugh. A lot. Action in the war was at a low point, and many people were taking advantage of the relative peace to spend time doing normal activities such as shopping and Quidditch.

To Hermione's surprise, Ron had taken up with a girl. Quidditch and shopping were one thing, but beginning a romance in the middle of a war seemed ludicrous to her.

"Ron, there's a war. You're in it! Your entire family is involved. At any second, you could find yourself surrounded by Death Eaters, wands trained on you, with no hope. Why do you want to have a relationship?"

"Hermione, we shouldn't stop living just because there's a war," said Ron, as he kneaded dough in a big bowl for his mother. Hermione was mixing dry ingredients in another, Ginny, the liquid ingredients. "If we do, then they've already won! The Dark side wants to instill fear in us. If they do, then we're half-defeated already. If we keep living, keep loving, keep fighting with everything we've got, we won't enter battle half-dead. It's love that keeps us going, it's love we're fighting _for_. Love is what they're trying to destroy, to replace with fear and hate. Don't let them, Hermione. If love comes around, take it and hold on. It just might save you in the end."

She chuckled. "Since when did you get so smart?"

He smiled. "You told me that two years ago, remember? At least, the general idea. I probably mixed it up a bit."

Hermione tried to remember what it felt like to believe what Ron had said, but that was before her parents had been killed. Since then, things hadn't been the same for her. Thinking of her parents made her think of Draco, which made her both a little happy, and a little sad. "I don't remember much from then, Ron. Sounds idealistic to me."

"Well, it's true. Every day when I wake up, I feel like there's something worth getting up for, and that's seeing her one more day. I could fight off ten Death Eaters if it meant another hour with her."

"Luna."

"Yes."

Hermione thought about how skilled at fighting Draco was and she wasn't sure anyone could fight off ten Death Eaters alone, assuming they were similar to him. But maybe, just maybe, if a person had motivation enough, they could. Ginny left the room to find Molly, smiling slightly and humming.

"You know, Hermione," said Ron, under his breath. "I think there's something going on with Ginny."

"What do you mean?" Hermione whispered.

"Every morning when I see her, she's got the same look in her eye that I feel. Like there's someone she's getting up for. Has she said anything to you?"

"No, not at all."

He frowned. "Huh. Well, I still think there's something."

"Have you asked her about it?"

"Yeah!" he said, a little too enthusiastically, because he sent a wad of dough flying through the kitchen. Hermione laughed.

"And?" she asked, now finished with her task.

"She just shrugged and said she had no idea what I was talking about."

"Maybe she does have a little secret, and she doesn't want to share. I think that's perfectly fine. Let her have her secret."

"Do _you _have any secret loves, Hermione?" Ron asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"Me? Very funny, Ronald."

"I'm serious. Sometimes you look that way too, only not all the time. Like this morning, I saw it when you first came down to breakfast. And the other day, when you were reading by the fire."

Hermione didn't like to think that there was enough going on in her life to warrant bearing such a look. Draco was – Draco. There would always be an impassable gulf between them, even if she didn't want it there. Right now, she certainly wanted that gulf. She _needed _that gulf. She was working on the business of forgiving him, and had enough to worry about without adding anything else.

**ooo**

Wednesday night she returned to The Edge to stay the night and prepare for work. She had hoped to come in unnoticed, but Harry was in the drawing room, looking over some papers. He looked up when she entered.

"Hey, you. Where have you been? Mal – we've been worried."

"I've been at the Burrow. I quit the Ministry on Monday, as instructed, and took up at Flourish and Blotts. I start tomorrow."

"That's great, Hermione! I'm glad you'll finally be somewhere you really want to be."

She sat down on the floor in front of him. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"What's the first thing you think about when you wake up?"

"Ginny."

She smiled.

"Why?" he asked.

"Something Ron said, that he said _I _said. About love and fighting for it."

Harry considered her for a moment. "I think I remember that. It was before your parents…"

"Yeah, it was," she said, smiling sadly. "I probably believed it then."

"You don't anymore?"

Without thinking about it, she looked toward the stairs. "I don't know. I agree that we should fight, and that love is something worth fighting for. Ron also said that I should grab hold of love if it comes along. What are you two cooking up? He sounded like you did a few weeks ago, telling me to be open to things."

"Ron is a very smart man."

Hermione laughed. "Which is a little surprising. He was always smart enough, but he never seemed very introspective. I think his injury changed him. He's different now. He's still Ron, but he seems older than he is. As though somewhere along the way he passed us by."

"We're in different worlds right now. He's waiting on the fringe, still able to live a little. You and I are in the thick. Sort of. We will be; or, _I _will be, at least. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it does."

"Our perspectives are different. It's understandable that he would seem different."

"I know, I guess it just hit me today that he's really not here, and he's not going to be."

They sat in silence for a few minutes; then Harry said, "Hermione, what's the first thing you think about when you wake up?"

She thought hard. "Honestly?" she laughed. "I think how nice it is to be warm. No matter what, I wake up warm, all snuggled under – " She stopped talking, aghast at what she had almost said – _his_ cloak. Harry raised an eyebrow at her.

"Snuggled under what?" he asked, innocently.

"N-Nothing," she said. "I'm going to bed."

Harry smiled. She'd figure it out soon enough.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Well? What did you think? I'm sure not many people were surprised, but I didn't expect it to be a big huge shock. I can't wait to hear what you think! Theories... speculation... I want to hear it all:)

Thank you for reading! New chapter SOON!


	18. Phase Two

**Disclaimer: **Nope, don't own Harry Potter.

**Note: **Chapter title taken from Alias, season two. My favorite episode. :) Special thanks to Eilonwy for beta-ing this for me! I hope to get the next chapter out on Friday, and then another on Christmas day.

**ooo **

**Chapter 18 - Phase Two**

Hermione's job at Flourish and Blotts was a dream compared to working at the Ministry. She loved books, there was absolutely no stress, and when the store was empty, she was allowed to read, so long as there was nothing else that needed to be done.

At first, her schedule had been erratic, but after the first week, it calmed down and she worked the day shift. After work, Hermione usually went to the Ministry Library to continue her Death Eater task. She found she could concentrate better there, away from distraction, and she could also catch snippets of information about the War.

Hermione got along well with her coworkers. Most of them were older, so she didn't know them from school. There was one man, though, who was only a year older than she His name was Andrew, and he'd gone to school in the U.S. They talked whenever they worked together, but as they days passed, Hermione caught him looking at her, and when she did, he would redden and look away.

She told Harry about him after she'd been working for almost two weeks.

"So, there's this bloke at work," she started, when the two of them were sitting outside.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"I don't know. He keeps looking at me."

"Uh-huh…"

"I don't know. I don't think I like him in that way. I mean, he's nice enough, but there's just something missing."

"Really, Hermione? Or are you just scared?" Harry, of course, would have Hermione with Draco if he could, but neither of them seemed too keen on the idea. At least, not overtly.

"I'm really not scared. There's just – something missing."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. The magic."

Harry chuckled. "There's plenty of magic, Hermione."

"I don't mean _our _kind of magic. There are lots of forms of magic. At least, _I_ think so."

"Well, remember what I said."

"I know, I know. Give it a chance."

One night, the last night of November, Hermione worked until the store closed because a coworker went home sick. Andrew was working that night too, and as they locked the shop for the night, he asked her to get coffee with him. He'd thrown in a hasty 'as friends' at the look on Hermione's face, and she'd said okay.

She had guessed that he was interested in her, and while she was flattered, she couldn't reciprocate. Harry's and Ron's words to her about not rejecting chances flitted through her mind as they sat in Diagon Alley's only coffee shop, in two large arm chairs next to the fire. They got along just fine, and had some things in common, but there was nothing else. There was none of that extra _thing _ she'd tried telling Harry about that distinguishes friends from more than friends.

Hermione enjoyed the time she spent with Andrew, but when she realized how late it had gotten, she became anxious to return home to the Edge. However, Andrew was in the middle of what she could tell would be a _long _ story, and she didn't want to be rude. When he finally finished, she gave what she thought was an appropriate and acceptable response to the story, and told him she had to leave.

He was nice, and offered to see her safely home, but she declined.

When she was safely on the doorstep to Draco's house, she relaxed fully. She went inside, and found Harry in the drawing room.

"Hermione," he said, standing.

She could tell something was wrong. "Hey, Harry."

"Are you okay? You're much later than usual."

"Oh, I'm fine. I had to work late, and then I had coffee with a coworker."

Draco entered the room, and it was a testament to how things had changed between them that he didn't immediately start yelling.

She could feel his displeasure, however, and his scowl was alarming; she braced herself.

"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice calm but on the edge of anger.

"As I told Harry, I had to work late."

"Flourish and Blotts closes at ten, and you usually return from the Ministry at eleven. It's nearly one."

She was getting annoyed. "We stayed open late tonight because we had a special guest. The last customer didn't leave until nearly quarter to twelve."

Draco stared at her.

"Then I had coffee with someone from work. Look, what's the big deal?"

"The big deal, Granger, is that we expect you home at a certain time. When you're late, we are forced to think that the worst has happened. And we aren't at liberty to go scouring London to look for you. If you _know _that you are going to be late, the least you can do is owl."

"Okay. Sorry. I understand; won't happen again. Are we done?"

"No," said Harry. "We have a few things we need to talk about, Hermione. And we should probably sit."

"Who?" said Draco, addressing Hermione.

"Who what?"

"You had coffee; with whom did you go?"

She didn't want to tell him, and she had no idea why, but there it was. Reluctance. Hermione refused, at that time, to think about what it might mean, but she filed the feeling away to ponder over later.

Fortunately, Harry saved her. "Come on, Malfoy. We're all tired, and we need to get this done. Forget about it, okay?"

He scowled, though at no one in particular, and sat heavily in the chair.

"So what do you want to talk about?" she asked, sitting on the couch next to Harry.

"A few things," said Draco. He took a deep breath, and Hermione could almost see him changing trains of thought as he calmly breathed in and out a few times. "First and foremost, you need to know that we have finished with phase one of this mission, and are ready to move on to phase two."

She frowned. "I wasn't aware there were phases. What was the first one?"

"Training. Phase two comprises searching for the last Horcrux. You, Harry, and Weasley destroyed all of them years ago, but the Dark Lord had, and still has, no knowledge of their destruction. When Nagini was killed, and you were unable to get to the Dark Lord, he made a new Horcrux. I am certain he has made no more. I have a few leads, but they could turn into nothing. We're going to explore those leads in the coming months until we learn the identity and whereabouts of the final Horcrux."

"How do you know about Horcruxes?" Hermione asked, glancing at Harry.

"Snape, actually. After we left Hogwarts, he told me he was a spy for the Order first and foremost, and that he could no longer perform that duty because of what he'd been forced to do. He wanted me to take his place. I wasn't much in the frame of mind to hear that he was, after all, on the other side, and I wasn't at a place in my life where that option seemed viable. Plus, I was scared out of my wits of the Dark Lord.

"Severus tried to convince me that there was hope, by way of the Horcruxes, to destroy the Dark Lord, and therefore get out of the life I'd started. I listened to him, to obtain the information, but refused to do what he wanted. He was angry, but mostly, I think, disappointed. He thought that because I hadn't killed Dumbledore that I would be agreeable to turning sides. I was sixteen; I wasn't agreeable to any of it anymore, and I thought that the easiest thing was to return to the Dark Lord. He wanted to return to the Order, since I refused, and plead his case, but I convinced him to wait."

"Snape never came," Hermione said slowly, looking at him.

"No," said Draco, after meeting her gaze and then turning away. "I did not tell the Dark Lord what Snape had told me, however. My reasons escape me, but I am glad I chose to hold the information to myself. I think I still wasn't completely aware of what I had gotten myself into. Part of me still expected to wake up."

"I thought you were going to kill him, _then_ destroy the Horcrux. That's what you told me months ago."

Harry and Draco exchanged a look. "We have reason to believe he's made a _person _his final Horcrux. In which case, the person is either very near to, or very far from the Dark Lord. And it's likely this person has some of the Dark Lord's more _eccentric_ tendencies, brought on by the Dark spell and having a piece of his soul."

"Basically, we have to kill them both," Harry added. "And it doesn't really matter which one we go after first."

"In some ways, whoever is playing host to the Dark Lord's soul could be _more _dangerous than he is. This person would have increased powers and heightened awareness, but also a more reckless attitude. After all, the Dark Lord could simply make a new living Horcrux, should the current host be killed. And we have to figure out who it is."

"How could you possibly know all of that?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms. "You never leave this place."

"Not that you see," said Draco.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Sorry? You mean to say you _leave, _and yet you yell at _me _for being _late_?"

"It's different," he said.

"No, it's not, really."

"I can take care of myself."

Harry winced.

"And I _can't_?" Hermione yelled. "_You _have _both _sides after you; I'd say my chances are much better!"

"Granger," said Draco, remaining surprisingly calm. "I meant nothing by what I said. I am accustomed to hiding in shadows and remaining undetected. You are not. And it's not as if I leave every night, perhaps once or twice a month. I am in contact with the Dark Lord, as you know, and sometimes I have to do things to convince him of my loyalty and remind him that I'm still working for him."

Hermione'e eyes narrowed. "What _things_?"

"Like those pictures we sent a few months ago. Physical evidence that I'm trailing Potter and trying to catch a traitor. Nothing Unforgivable, if that's what you're thinking."

She relaxed visibly, and Draco was surprised to see she'd been worried about his actions. He frowned, wondering exactly what she'd been thinking, and why. He very much wanted to ask, but she spoke before he could.

"So, when you're – _out _– you hear things."

"Yes. Most recently, I overheard some of the Death Eaters talking. Second-tier Death Eaters, just below the inner circle. They were talking about someone who had received a very special honor. They called it transference, but they essentially described the creation of a Horcrux. The Dark Lord had put a piece of himself, of his aura, they were told, into one of his most faithful. We know it was actually a piece of his soul. I wasn't able to hear much more, however; I only know it wasn't one of those present."

"Are you frequently in situations where you overhear Death Eaters?" she asked, somewhat suspicious, and curious at the same time.

"That is not something that concerns you," he said with an air of finality.

She stared at him hard before deciding not to press the issue. Hermione had come to a point where she could tell when she could push Draco for more, and when it would be as useless as trying to push a mountain. This was one of those times.

"Do you have any ideas as to who it could be?" she asked.

"It could be anyone in his inner circle, of which there are nine, Bella and my father included."

"I know who the nine are," she said. "You _were _one of them, but Lucius replaced you."

Draco ground his teeth and scowled. "Not exactly. Lucius has always been there, even when the Dark Lord was angry with him. I was above the nine, so to speak, given certain privileges no one else was." Hermione started to speak, but he cut her off. "It is not important. The _point _is that we're going to be leaving for days – even weeks – at a time, following these leads, and any new ones that arise."

"Oh," she said, suddenly feeling very small. "So… I'll be all alone here."

"Yes. And you should be extra cautious, though I will put more protective wards on the house and grounds." said Draco reassuringly, yet firmly.

Hermione didn't say anything right away. She wasn't sure how she felt about being left alone. On one hand, she'd never been afraid of them being found out at the Edge. She hadn't seen or heard any hint of activity anywhere on the property, Wizard or Muggle, since she'd moved in. On the other hand, though, Harry and Draco had always been there with her.

"The second thing," said Harry, who'd been quiet while Draco talked, "is that we need you to learn healing magic. As much as you can."

She frowned. "Why?"

"In case of injury," said Draco, bluntly.

"Who – " she started, then stopped, slightly horrified at what he meant. "Oh," she said, feeling again very small.

"Can you do that?" Draco asked quietly, almost as if he could sense how she felt and he understood.

"Yes. I learned a little bit of healing in Auror training, and I'm sure I can find a few books on the subject."

Harry grinned. "Books. Of course."

She smiled at him sadly. "I hope never to have to use what I might learn."

"Just – learn as much as you can, Granger. You don't have to be perfect at it, just proficient enough."

She nodded, feeling slightly numb. "When do you leave for the first time?" she asked.

"Tomorrow," said Draco, studying her intently, waiting for her reaction.

Her eyes widened. "_Tomorrow_?!" Something caught in her throat and she felt she might cry at any moment, though she didn't know _why_. Perhaps because things would get hard now, and scary. Until then, the danger had seemed far away. She did her desk job, and they played dueling on the ledge. But now, her friend – and Malfoy – would be getting into dangerous situations. So dangerous, they believed it would be a good use of her time to learn healing magic. The force of what it all meant hit her hard.

"How long will you be gone?" she asked quietly.

Draco closed his eyes for a few seconds, and they were softer when Hermione saw them again. "Three days."

"Will you be here for Christmas?" she asked, dazed. "It's soon."

Harry chuckled. "Yes, I promised Ginny."

"What do you want me to do?"

Draco spoke. "Same thing you do now. Go to work, come back _here, _nowhere else, continue your task for us, and learn healing magic."

"At least I won't be bored," she said. She stared at the floor, trying to force the room to stop spinning. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes," said Draco. "I need your _word_ that you won't go anywhere except work and here."

"And the Ministry. For books."

"Okay, the Ministry too. Do I have it?"

"All the time?" she asked, her head clearing a bit as she resented being told what to do.

"No, just when we're gone."

"But, what if – "

"No what ifs. Your word, Granger."

She looked at him, trying to find a clue as to why he was being so insistent. "Why – "

"Granger. When you are _here_, you are safe. And _only_ when you are here. Work and the Ministry are only marginally safer than being outside in the open street. But anywhere else, I can't – protect you when I'm gone," he said, stumbling for words at the end that would say what he meant, without really _saying_ it.

And maybe she was imagining things, but he was almost pleading. _Almost._ Because he would never actually plead, with her or anyone. But it was as close as she imagined he would get.

"You can't protect me, no matter _where_ I am, especially when you and Harry are off doing whatever it is you're going to do. How can you even say something like that?"

He set his jaw. "Just – give me your word."

She waited before answering, hoping to convey to him that she didn't appreciate being told what to do. "Okay," she said finally. "Nowhere but here."

Now it was his turn to relax visibly. "Good. Now we're finished."

"Any questions, Hermione?" asked Harry.

"No. But, you'll tell me when you're going to leave, right?"

"Of course."

"And when you'll be back?"

"When we know that, then yes."

She sighed. "I'm a little tired. Are we finished?"

"Yes," said Harry.

She stood. "I'm going outside. Goodnight."

When she was out of the room, Harry said, "She took it well."

Draco nodded. "Do you think she'll keep her word?"

"Yes, unless there is truly a good reason for her to break it. She's a Gryffindor; our word _means _something," Harry said with a smirk.

"I'm worried," Draco said. "I need her to be where she says she'll be, and go exactly where she says she'll go, and for as long as she says. Otherwise, how can I keep my promise? Before, I could do as I pleased, and I could always watch over her. Now, I have to _trust _that she's not going to do something stupid and get herself into trouble. Have I mentioned I'm not good with trusting?"

"Once or twice, yeah," said Harry. "Maybe if you explained a little bit about _why _you're so intent on her keeping to what she says, she'll be even more likely to do it."

"No, Harry, you _know _why I won't explain myself. And I shouldn't have to, either."

"Except that she doesn't serve you, and therefore doesn't have to do anything you say. I couldn't believe how easily she gave in just now. That shows she at least understands you're not just demanding things for no reason, even though you don't give her one. She trusts that you at least _have _a reason."

Draco frowned. "She's something, isn't she?"

"Yeah."

**ooo**

After an hour, Draco went outside to speak with Hermione. She was sitting in her usual seat, staring blankly at the tempestuous sea, wearing no outer cloak. She was shivering, but didn't seem to notice. He frowned and went to her, concerned as she'd been outside for over an hour. She took no notice of him as he knelt in front of her and touched her hand, which was cold as ice.. She snapped out of the trance she'd been in when she felt the surge of energy as he touched her. He stood and once again wrapped his cloak around her. She looked up at him while he made sure the cloak was snug.

His eyes were incredible, and they reminded her of something. They were alive, yet hard, full of pain and fear. They seemed to constantly move, searching and not finding. Waves of emotion flowed through them. She was surprised to see anything so complex and vast in his eyes; they were deep and unending – like the ocean.

She gave him a small smile. "They're grey," she said.

Draco looked at her thoughtfully, then sat down in the chair next to hers. "You only noticed now?" he asked softly, remembering she'd once thought they were blue.

"I guess I haven't looked to really remember before. Or there's something about the light right now that makes them remarkable."

He shifted in his seat and was silent for a moment. Then he reached into his robes, pulled out a thick envelope, and handed it to her. "I have something for you."

She went to open it, but he quickly said, "No, don't try to open it."

"What is it?"

"My last wishes."

Hermione dropped the envelope as if it were cursed and her heart sprang into her throat. Last wishes? So these missions were going to be more dangerous than they had led her to believe.

"If I die, the will is charmed, and will alert you," he said, as casually as if they were discussing the weather. "I leave all of this to you," he said, indicating the house and the grounds.

"Me?" she asked, surprised.

"You like it, don't you?"

"Yes, but – "

"The property is currently under ownership of the government. It wouldn't do to have a large tract of land under my name, would it?" He had a slight sparkle in his eyes; it was the moon, reflecting off their surface. "There's a letter in there which you will take to the bank to claim the land. It's nearly two hundred acres. All ownership of the house and its protections will fall to you."

She was momentarily speechless. He was going to leave her a house if he died. If he _died_. There was a small part of her screaming in protest at the notion of his death, and she didn't understand it. Why would she care if he ended up dead? It surprised her to feel the weight of just how much she _did _care, despite everything. He'd killed her parents, and many others, not to mention the hundreds who were killed or hurt because of him, if not directly by his hand. The world would say he deserved death; she'd believed he did too, at one time. But she didn't anymore, she knew it with all of her being.

"Why me?"

This time, he spoke much more quietly, "Who else is there? Just promise me one thing." She nodded, feeling numb. "Use it to defeat Voldemort. Whatever it takes." She slowly nodded again, then turned to look at him.

"What about – your island?" She still wanted to know why he'd done all this, gone to all this trouble with her and Harry in an effort to defeat his Master.

"Everything will be explained, it's all in there. Oh, and if you get curious, don't bother trying to open it. Only with my death can it be unsealed."

For some reason, unknown to Hermione, she wanted to cry for the second time that night. This man, who'd killed her parents, would leave her everything he had because he had no one else to leave it to. But what alarmed her most was his resigned attitude. He was okay with dying, which told her he didn't have anything to live for.

_Me! _Something inside her screamed. She was shocked at the little protest inside her head.

_I need you to live! _shouted the tiny voice. She shook her head. Why would _she_ need him to live?

_To forgive him. _

She closed her eyes. Deep inside her heart and her mind, Hermione knew she wouldn't be a whole person again until she could put her parents' murder completely behind her, and that included forgiving their murderer. She had tried, once, with no success. Maybe she had been brought into this situation with him and Harry to provide her a final goodbye to her parents, and a chance to let go for good. In forgiving Draco, she could forgive herself for not being there, for not helping them, for leaving them alone. She could move beyond the hole left in her heart and slowly start to mend it.

_But there's more…_ The voice was relentless. And she didn't understand what it meant this time. It had been screaming about _"more" _for weeks now, but she'd refused to allow herself to dwell on its meaning.

Draco stood to go inside. Hermione's heart twisted around itself harder and harder with each step he took toward the door. Suddenly she needed him to know that there was something to live for, that she needed him to come back alive, though right now she couldn't voice that need or understand it.

"Mal – Draco," she called. He stopped with the door half open and looked at her, his expression unreadable but his eyes shining. "Please," she said, and she had to pause. "Don't die," she finally whispered, silently pleading with him to understand her request, and everything it meant, even though she didn't fully understand it herself.

He said nothing, but a fire erupted briefly in his eyes, then returned to their former luster. He nodded almost imperceptibly and went inside.

**o****oo **

**A/N: **In this chapter, I paid homage to D&D (hiding in shadows) and Lord of the Rings (with the nine). I LOVE my reviewers! You make my days brighter:) Hope you like this one, and I hope you let me know!


	19. Dreams and Eggs

**Disclamier: **Don't own Harry Potter or anything about the magical world of JKR

**Note: **Phew! This one was tough! But here it is. And a super-stupendous thank you to my reviewers - 45 for the last chapter! I was pleasantly surprised! Next one Christmas day, not that anyone is going to be sitting at their computers waiting for it. It just feels like the right time to post it. And thanks to Eilonwy for betaing! You are awesome!**  
**

** ooo**

**Chapter 19 – Dreams and Eggs**

Hermione woke up outside. Draco had moved her to the swing again, still wrapped in his cloak. She knew they were gone – something just told her. The air felt heavier, the sun less bright.

For the next three days, Hermione went through every known emotion. She knew she would receive no contact from the men regarding their safety or their mission. And she hated not knowing; she always had. She found herself sleepwalking through work; she worried for her friend and the other one, someone who had no title. She couldn't sleep, and when she did, it was uneasy and filled with nightmares about their fate. Every noise in the house terrified her; part of her feared that Death Eaters had found Harry and Draco and were now coming for her.

She was thankful for an escape: healing magic. Hermione went to the Ministry library and checked out nearly every single book available. She read those when she was at home. When at work, she pulled books off the shelves to read, and even bought a few, smiling as she spent Draco's money. The distraction was nice, and she delved into learning all about healing with something bordering on obsession. She started with learning anatomy then moved to simple diagnostic spells. By the end of day three, she'd correctly diagnosed herself with anxiety and lack of sleep.

It was at night though, when she couldn't lose herself in terminology and spells, that she felt the loneliness and worry most severely. Even though she'd been able to avoid those feelings during the day, they never truly went away. They'd simply piled into a ball throughout the day that her all at once when she tried to sleep.

The first night, she thought mostly about Harry. He was one of her best friends, and had been for many years. The thought of a world without him wasn't worth thinking about because he was the one who was supposed to defeat Voldemort. If he failed, what would become of the world? If he failed… it wasn't even worth thinking about.

That night she had a nightmare about being forced into slavery, forced to wait on none other than Lucius Malfoy himself as he ridiculed, beat, and tortured her. And sometimes worse. Then the dream flashed to Draco, and he was her master, only he wasn't _himself. _He was the old Draco, the one from school who didn't seem to exist anymore , and then she woke up terrified.

The second night Hermione thought of Draco. She didn't want him to die, she'd already realized that, but she felt it strongly, too strongly, to be just because he was with Harry and his death would mean Harry's as well. She tried to convince herself the reason she worried about him was because she needed to forgive him still, and to _tell _him she forgave him. But there was still that little voice in her head that repeated _'But there's more…' _over and over. She tried to stay awake as long as possible each night so that when she finally did drift into sleep, she would be too tired to dream.

It didn't work, though and she did dream, but it wasn't a horrible nightmare, as the night before. It was… mysterious. She dreamt of the night she'd returned to the Edge to find Draco sitting in the drawing room, reading. Only in the dream, he had no light on and was reading by the silver moonlight, bathed in its eerie glow. He came toward her, his hair and cloak billowing as though in a strong wind, and when he was standing mere inches in front of her, leaned over to whisper something in her ear. Only she woke up just before she heard what he was going to say. But she remembered his eyes, shining as with their own light from a shadowed face – pale, brilliant grey.

The third night Hermione thought about Draco again, and as she sat outside on the porch, she clutched the envelope to her tightly. It was a lifeline to her friend and the haunted man, a constant reminder that they were okay. Her feelings were confusing; he had killed her parents, and she had wanted his death and torment for a long time. Now she found she needed him to live, not just for him but for her too, so that _she_ could move on. And maybe it would let him move on a little too. Because she saw one thing in him – he was haunted by demons she could never imagine. And her heart told her that anyone who was haunted as he was had _something_ inside him that _could_ be haunted; some little part of him that was still human and had not been tainted by the life he'd led.

That nigh, the bird he'd healed returned to her dreams, but now it was silver, like the moonlight, flying through a star-studded sky leaving a silvery trail behind it.

When she woke up the next morning, there was a bird sitting on the porch railing watching her with its head cocked to one side. Hermione shivered and pulled the cloak tightly around her, smiling at the bird. It padded along the railing for a few minutes before it took off.

Then she heard noises in the house. She whipped out her wand and went to the kitchen window to look in. Her heart was beating forcefully and she was holding her breath. She let it out in relief when she saw Harry and Draco, then ran inside and flung herself on Harry.

Harry hugged her back, but after a minute or so, he said, "Uh, Hermione?"

She pulled back, tears filling her eyelashes. "You're back," she whispered, not taking her eyes off him.

Harry nodded. "How have you been, Hermione? Not too worried, I hope."

"I'm okay, now that I know you're back. Oh, I'm so relieved you're safe." She met Draco's eyes over Harry's shoulder and smiled softly. He nodded slightly and, after holding her gaze long enough that it was almost awkward, disappeared up the stairs.

"Yes, it's good to be back," said Harry, yawning.

"I'm looking forward to sleeping tonight," she said happily, looking back at Harry.

"Oh, speaking of sleep," said Harry, dragging himself toward the stairs, "goodnight."

"What?" she exclaimed.

"We haven't slept in three days. Must go – now – before I fall out right here on the floor. It looks so soft…"

She laughed. "Okay, go on. I'm going in to work today. See you later."

"Don't count on us for anything today, I imagine," said Harry, yawning again as he trudged up the stairs. Hermione heard his door shut. She sighed, happy and relieved they were home. She knew she'd hear the story of their adventure soon; at least she hoped she would. She went to get ready for work.

Work went as it always did, only today Andrew again asked her out, this time for dinner the next week. She was torn; Andrew was nice, and undeniably handsome, but she was always preoccupied with Harry and Draco and their combined mission. She didn't have time for romance. She remembered what Ron had told her, yet her heart wasn't in it. It wasn't available for her to give away; it seemed to be asleep or waiting for something.

_It was waiting for lightning._

Still, for some reason, Hermione said yes but as friends only. She didn't want to think about what her heart was waiting for. Stolen glances across the dinner table? Accidental touches that sent sparks through her? A voice that could make her tremble in fear, yet betray its owner's uncertainty and fears?

After her four-hour shift, Hermione went to the Ministry Library to work on her clean-up task. Instead, she found a particularly interesting section in the healing book she was reading on the blood vessels and got lost in it. She read non-stop until all the lights flickered, reminding her she had ten minutes to get out. Picking up her things, she Apparated to the Edge. She headed straight for the porch to continue reading, not even stopping to check and see if the guys were awake. She read for another hour furiously taking notes, not even noticing the time passing.

She didn't notice Malfoy stumble out, half asleep, to join her on the porch until he spoke.

"What are you doing?"

She jumped, sending her quill flying across the parchment leaving a thick, black streak. "Oh, Malfoy, you scared me," she said, pulling out her wand to fix the mistake.

He smiled lazily at the ocean. So it was back to Malfoy; he hadn't honestly expected her to call him anything else. "Sorry," he said lightly.

"It's okay," she said, looking up at him for the first time. He looked asleep, but he was gently rocking the chair so she knew he wasn't. "I'm working," she said to answer his question.

He yawned. "What time is it?"

"After midnight, probably."

"Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Maybe." A moment of silence passed.

"Hermione, is there anything to eat?"

She looked up from her writing when she heard her name, and smiled to herself at the sight of him sitting there, probably oblivious to his misstep. "No, there's nothing prepared; I haven't even had dinner," she said, just realizing the fact.

"Oh." He just sat there, and it looked like he was trying to decide if it was worth it to get up.

"What do you want? I'll fix you something," she offered, putting her papers and notebooks and book away.

"No, I'll do it," he said, eyes closed and still not moving.

She smiled and stood. "Come on. What do you want?"

He looked up at her, the moonlight directly hitting his eyes, making them shine almost like in her dream. Her breath caught. "Uhm, eggs I guess."

She went into the kitchen and fixed Draco three eggs. When she returned to the porch carrying his plate, he looked asleep.

"Malfoy?" she said quietly, not wanting to wake him if he was, indeed, sleeping.

"Hmmm?" he said.

"Here are your eggs."

"Oh, thank you, Hermione." She sat down and decided it wasn't the best time to tease him about thanking her _and _using her name – twice in one night. Draco ate the eggs in silence. When he finished, he set the plate down on the floor, and yawned again.

"Know any songs?" he asked after a minute.

She looked at him sideways; he didn't appear to be joking. "I have no songs for great halls or dark times," she said, quoting a favorite book.

"Sing me something." Draco looked like he was quickly falling back to sleep.

She looked at him, sitting beside her, his eyes closed. "Are you serious?"

He smirked. "Yes, Granger"

"I – I don't know."

"My mother used to sing to me. I was very young, but I still remember it."

"Well, okay. It's from a movie. And a book, actually."

"A movie. Muggle moving and talking pictures."

"Yes. It's called 'The Steward of Gondor'."

Draco smiled sleepily. "I love that book."

"Books," she corrected.

"Yes."

"Fine. Okay. I'm no singer, mind you."

"That's okay."

"The tune is from the movie, really, and the poem from the book."

"Yes, yes; please, just go on."

So she sang.

_Home is behind. The world ahead. _

_And there are many paths to tread._

_Through shadow,_

_To the edge of night_

_Until the stars are all alight._

_Mist and shadow. Cloud and shade._

_Hope shall fail. All… shall fade._

The song seemed to her so fitting to what they were going through, that it nearly made her cry. She turned to look at Draco, and saw that he was deeply asleep.

Hermione stood and removed his cloak, putting it on its owner. He didn't stir as she tucked it around him. When she was finished, she bent to look at him. He sleeps so peacefully, she thought. All the lines of fear and worry were gone and she saw his flawless face. If only she could look at his eyes too. She left him on the porch and went up to her room.

**ooo**

When Draco woke the next morning, the first thing he noticed was that he felt wind, but he was warm. He opened his eyes, slowly remembering why he was outside. He glanced over to where Hermione had sat the night before; she wasn't there, and he was a little disappointed. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, and his cloak fell off into his lap. He touched it, and realized that Hermione must have covered him with it the before she went to bed.

Something stirred in him, and before his mind started trying to figure it out, he forced himself to go inside, where he could hear Harry and Hermione talking and laughing.

He'd slept hard, he thought, as he tried to clear his head of the foggy 'not really awake' feeling. He stumbled into the drawing room, barely aware of his surroundings.

"So, you spent the entire time in the woods? Camping?"

"Yeah. I mean, obviously there was a point to it, and it could have turned out to be something, but it didn't." Harry looked up when Draco entered the room. "Morning, Malfoy."

Hermione looked up at him and noticed yet another new side to him – sleepy. He'd been tired the night before, but it was a total-exhaustion kind of tired. This was a different kind; the just-woke-up kind. He squinted at the open windows which let in the sun's rays. His hair was totally messy and falling into his eyes, and he had a line across his cheek. He was also wearing flannel pants and only a T-shirt, which highlighted the stark black figure against the pale skin of his arm.

"Ugh, Malfoy, put that away," said Harry, shielding his eyes.

Draco frowned and subconsciously rubbed his arm. "Put what away?" he asked.

Hermione laughed. "I believe he's referring to the glaring declaration of your undying loyalty to the most evil wizard in the world." He frowned, and Hermione laughed harder. "Malfoy, it's not like we didn't know it was there," she said.

He scowled and pointed his wand up the stairs and a spell flew from its tip. In seconds a sweatshirt came flying into his hand, which he then put on. He glared at Harry, then went into the kitchen.

"He's funny when he's sleepy!" said Hermione. _Cute too,_ said that little voice in her head. Had she missed that somehow?

Harry winced, remembering a few of their training sessions. "He can be really grumpy as well."

**ooo**

When Draco finished breakfast, he stepped back into the morning air. He took the sweatshirt off letting the biting cold attack his skin and summoned his broom, then flew out over the water. After flying for a few minutes, he went closer to the water's surface and dove in. The water was frigid; his skin was tingly in seconds. He returned to the surface and got on his broom again and flew over the surface, letting his fingers dip just below it. Then he flew a few feet into the air and dove, on his broom, into the water. He flew through the water until he couldn't hold his breath any longer, and finally surfaced. Invigorated, he returned to the top of the cliff, dried his clothes with a charm and went inside, pulling the sweatshirt back over his shirt. It was December, after all.

Harry was sitting at the table making notes from their trip. Draco sat down and started going through other notes they'd made.

"Hermione went to work," said Harry. Draco nodded, frowning at a map he was looking at. "She doesn't know we're leaving soon."

"We'll tell her tonight."

"I hate that we have to go so soon, though. She's going to be in a constant state of worry from now until who knows when."

"We've got to move on the other lead before it's gone. And Potter, she's strong. You know that. It's one reason she's here, remember? She'll make it through."

"I know. But I can't help thinking it's going to be hard on her. Have you given any thought to what I said a bit back?"

"Hmm?" replied Draco, only half-listening.

"Hermione."

"What about her?"

Harry took the map away from Draco, which finally made him look up. "You and her."

Draco scowled. He didn't know what else to do. "Harry, let that go. Really. We both have more important things to think about."

"More important than love?"

"Love. Right." Draco shook his head. "In case you've forgotten, I am not made for it."

"Of course you are, everyone is."

"Not me."

"Why not?"

Draco looked at Harry. "Potter, let it go."

"No. This matters too."

Draco sighed. "Then tell me, if you're supposed to be her friend, why would you doom Hermione to me? I thought you cared about her."

"Of course I do. I've seen how you look at her. And no one else has ever looked at her that way, not even Ron."

"You're imagining things," Draco snapped, taking the map back from Harry. They sat silently looking at the papers in front of them.

"Harry," he said, changing the subject. "I think we need to go to Hogwarts. Look there." He pointed to something he'd underlined on a piece of parchment. "In the Room of Requirement, the storage room perhaps. There's all kinds of junk in there. Who knows?"

"Hogwarts? There is no way we could get in there."

"We could try."

They talked about plans for the rest of the day.

**ooo**

At dinner, Harry broached the subject with Hermione of them leaving again. "Hermione, how did you handle being here alone while we were gone?"

She frowned. "Uhm, okay I guess; why?"

"We have to leave soon; day after tomorrow."

Her shoulders sank. "So soon?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, Hermione. It's going to be like this from now until – well, until it's not."

She absently pushed the rest of her potatoes around on her plate. "How long this time?"

"A week, most likely."

She nodded, still staring at her plate. "Christmas is in three weeks. Just remember that."

"I know, I'll be here. I couldn't let Ginny down, you know that."

"Maybe I'll stay at the Burrow. This place is so – empty without you here."

Draco found himself silently hoping she meant 'you' in the plural sense. Then he scolded himself for thinking it. "No Burrow, remember?" he said, looking at her.

She frowned, then sighed. "I can't even go there?"

"I distinctly remember a conversation where you gave me your word that you wouldn't go anywhere except for work and the Ministry."

"But – I know I said that – but it's the Burrow. What could happen there?" she asked, innocently.

"Besides the Weasleys?" Draco asked, just a _hint _of amusement in his eyes.

"Exactly," she said.

He sighed. "Fine. The Burrow is allowed, _if _you tell me first."

"How am I supposed to do that?" she asked. "I can't exactly owl you, you know."

"Just like now. You said you're going to the Burrow. That's good enough."

She smiled. "Good enough for you? Now I've heard everything."

**ooo**

Harry and Draco left as promised. Hermione stayed at the Edge until the day she'd agreed to dinner with Andrew. As friends. The thing was, though, that she didn't want to break her word to Draco. It felt important that she didn't, so she'd have to explain to Andrew that it wasn't a good night, and she decided to tell him there simply wouldn't be a good night.

She stayed in her jeans and T-shirt, and Apparated to Flourish and Blotts. She waited inside the store until Andrew arrived, looking as though he'd spent a significantly longer time getting ready than she had. Hermione allowed herself to smile in appreciation.

"Hermione," he said, with a friendly smile.

"Good evening, Andrew," she said.

"Are you ready?" he asked, extending an arm.

"I need to talk to you about tonight. I – it's not really a good night for me."

He frowned. "I don't understand. We talked about it, and you said tonight was okay."

She wrung her hands. "Yes, I know. The thing is – I have this – friend." She forced herself not to blush at the thought of Draco as her friend. "And he's a little – overprotective – of me. He doesn't want me to go out and about at night, and that includes Diagon Alley."

"Who does he think he is?" Andrew said. Hermione knew he was trying to be on her side in pointing out the injustice of her friend's demands.

"He's – very insistent, and he has my best interests at heart, I'm sure. But the thing is, I promised him, and I want to keep that promise; if for no other reason than to keep it. I may not agree with him, but I want to keep my word. I hope you can understand that."

He sighed. "Of course. I still think he's being unreasonable. Doesn't he think you're capable of taking care of yourself? Did you tell this _friend_ you'd be with me?"

Hermione smiled. "It's not you he's worried about, it's the Death Eaters."

Andrew frowned. "Death Eaters? Why? I mean, I know they're after just about everyone, but everyone just has to be careful."

"It's possible I could be a target." It was clear to Hermione that Andrew still didn't understand. "I'm friends with Harry Potter," she said with a sigh. She hated using her friendship with Harry as an excuse or a reason for anything but the simple fact was, it was true. She and Ron had learned long ago to expect an extra dose of danger simply for being Harry's friend.

Andrew's jaw dropped. "Wait," he said. "THE Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter? Lightning scar, Harry Potter?"

"Yes," she said tersely, not happy with Andrew's glib descriptions of Harry.

"Wow, I had no idea."

"That's the way I like to keep things. Especially since – since he's been missing for over three months." Hermione forced herself to look worried, concerned, and upset. She would be glad when she didn't have to keep doing it.

"Oh," he said, awkwardly. Then, "But – still, you'd be with me."

"I gave my word," she said with a sigh.

Andrew thought for a moment. "Okay, if you can't go out for dinner, I'll have to bring dinner to you."

She blinked. "What?"

"We can eat here, in the back of the shop. I'll go and get something, and we'll eat here."

"Oh, Andrew, that's not necessary."

"It's no trouble at all. What do you say?"

She'd given her word to have dinner with him, too, so she said okay. And in her mind, she willed him to understand that it was as friends. _Friends. _

He returned to Flourish and Blotts after twenty minutes, and told Hermione to follow him into the back room.

"I wasn't sure what you would want, so I got a few things."

Hermione helped him set out the various dishes buffet style. "It looks delicious," she said, smiling at him and taking a plate to pile food on it. As they sat at the small break room table, an image of the night in New Zealand popped into her head. She thought about that dinner she'd shared with Malfoy and couldn't help but compare the two experiences, as they were her only 'social' outings since joining Malfoy's mad quest.

The two men were nothing alike; Andrew was kind, and he laughed and smiled easily; Draco rarely smiled, and she didn't think she'd ever heard real, honest laughter from him. Andrew had dark hair; Draco had almost white hair. Andrew was a gentleman; Draco was too, but only because he'd been raised to exude superiority and grace. He was still snarky and rude. Andrew showed blatant interest in Hermione and what she had to say; Draco acted as though he couldn't care less whether she existed or not. Most of the time; but not as often now, she realized. Now it was as if they were forced roommates, like at Hogwarts. They didn't openly despise each other, and they'd shared a few meaningful … moments, but they weren't friends. Yet. She was hopeful, though.

A few minutes later Andrew spoke. "So, does this mean you'll be in a sort of forced exile until the end of the War? Your – _friend – _won't let you out until there's no danger?" His voice carried a bitter tone.

Hermione frowned, thinking. Yes, he probably wouldn't. At least, if he could have his way about it. She couldn't tell Andrew that every day the War came closer to ending; she didn't have any idea as to Draco's timetable. But she felt very certain he would continue his over-protective tyranny until the very end. And she wasn't sure exactly how she felt about it.

"There's always danger, Hermione. He needs to let up even though you are friends with Harry Potter. He can't expect you to stop living." He paused, and looked at her meaningfully. "Is _he _why you're not interested in me?"

Hermione reddened at his forward question, but got a little annoyed too. "No, he's not. He knows he has no right to tell me whom I can and cannot see."

"So it's been an issue before, then?"

Hermione was feeling flustered and boxed in. "No, it hasn't. It's – complicated."

Andrew sighed. "I'm not trying to attack you – or him. I just need to know if I'm wasting my time."

Hermione couldn't look at him. "Andrew, my friend is not the reason I haven't gone out with you." She frowned, then, because he was, actually. Only not for the reason Andrew assumed. "I – I'm waiting for the War to end."

"Bollocks. There's someone else. No one's waiting for the War to end. Or, you just don't like me in that way."

"Yes, there is someone else," she said, hesitantly. It wasn't a lie, exactly; there were Harry and Draco and her loyalty to them and their efforts. _Not _Draco. _Not _him.

"Why didn't you just say so?" he asked.

"It's – complicated."

"Uh-huh," he said. "Look, Hermione. I still want to be friends. I just also happen to think you're really special. And I'm not sure this friend of yours is really being a true friend."

"Thank you, Andrew," she said, her mind spinning. Why _did _Draco act the way he did? If she really thought about it, he acted more like an overbearing parent than a friend. "I want to be friends. And – if things were different, I could easily see myself with someone like you." And that was completely true.

They were finished with dinner, so Hermione asked Andrew to escort her to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He agreed, though with a bit of suspicion as to why she was allowed to go there. Hermione sensed his agitation as they walked in silence, but felt unable to say anything to relieve it.

"Hermione!" shouted Fred, beaming when he saw her. He hugged her. "It's good to see you," he said, rubbing her head playfully.

"You too."

"Everyone's really glad you're coming over tonight," he said.

"Yeah, Mum's starting to stare at pictures of the three of you again. And she mutters while she cleans about seeing you and Harry in the soap bubbles," said George.

Hermione laughed, then turned to Andrew and thanked him. He nodded and, with a wary look at Fred and George, left the shop. Hermione knew friendship with Andrew, while that's what he said he was okay with, wouldn't remain. It was hard to be friends when there was unrequited attraction.

"Who was that?" asked Fred suspiciously.

"His name is Andrew, and we work together at Flourish and Blotts."

George narrowed his eyes. "He's not the guy Ginny told us about, is he?"

"What guy?" she asked.

"The potions guy."

"Oh, no, not at all. Like I said, Andrew and I work together."

"Good. I'd love a go at that potions git."

"Fred, things are good with me and potions-guy now. No having a go."

"Still, if you need us, Hermione."

She chuckled. "I know. And thank you."

Hermione remained with Fred and George until they left for the Burrow, where she stayed until Harry and Draco were expected to return.

It was helpful to be around her friends while she passed the days in fear and stress, and she tried to focus on reading her healing books. It usually worked, but sometimes at night she would dream that either Harry or Draco were lying in front of her with some new ailment or curse that she'd read about just that day, pleading with her to help them. Only she couldn't, because she hadn't finished the chapter.

**ooo**

**A/N:** Thank you for reading! I do hope you enjoyed it. Just a side note: the part where she sings was so hard to write! Not the actual words, but the idea. I would be terrified to do something like that, so I was completely nervous for her the whole time. Even now, thinking about it, I get all nervous. Anyway, I look forward to your thoughts:)


	20. Error and a Piece of the Divine

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter, or any of that.

**Note:** Phew! Merry Christmas to everyone! I made it! Special thanks (and a million special cookies) to Eilonwy for betaing this. And for spending part of her Christmas exchanging about 40 emails on one particular page of this. You are amazing!

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas Day!

**ooo**

**Chapter 20 – Error and a Piece of the Divine**

Harry and Draco returned safely when they said they would. Then they left two more times before Christmas, once for three days, once for a week. Each time Hermione wouldn't eat and could barely sleep the day before their anticipated return. She was unable to concentrate on her tasks during those days, and spent most of her time at work, forcing herself to read or shelve books or _something _to keep her mind occupied. She saw Andrew at work, and they got coffee together on occasion, but she told him that she didn't share his feelings. He had asked her if there was someone else, and she'd said yes, because it was true, there was someone else. Two someones, actually, who plagued her thoughts every waking moment.

When they returned from their trips, Hermione would hug Harry, and then all three of them would sleep. Harry and Draco looked progressively more tired and haggard each time they returned, and Hermione worried about them constantly, even when they were safely inside the four walls of the house.

Suddenly, it was almost the end of December.

Three days before Christmas Hermione was packing a bag to take to the Burrow, where she planned to spend the holiday. She'd be there an entire week, and she was greatly looking forward to it. Harry would come only for Christmas day to keep up the appearance of being highly busy, even though really he could stay longer.

She finished packing and walked to the closet which held her new robes. She'd only worn two since she moved in and she considered taking one with her. But they would want to know where she'd gotten it, and she didn't even really know where they came from. Plus she was certainly unable to afford them anyway. She sighed and closed the closet door. She was ready to go. There was only one more thing she wanted to do before leaving.

Hermione put her bag at the top of the stairs, then walked down the hallway. She knocked on Malfoy's door, not realizing she was holding her breath.

"Yes?"

"It's Hermione."

"Come in."

She opened the door. Draco was stretched out on his bed, his back against the wall, a book in his hand. He put it down and looked at her expectantly, his face devoid of emotion.

"Uhm, I just wanted to see what your plans are for the holiday."

He smirked. "Let's see. Sit here, read some, fly some, read some more, eat, get drunk, and repeat."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Come on, really, what are you doing?"

"I told you," he said, mildly daring her to say more.

Hermione stared at him intently for a moment, but saw no sign of his relenting. Her shoulders dropped as she said "Fine," and turned to go.

"Wait, don't go," he said softly, in almost a whisper. She turned around and merely looked at him, returning the expectant gaze he'd given her just a moment before. "You're going to the Weasleys, right?"

"Yes."

Neither spoke for a minute, only watched each other. It was as if they both knew there was something to say, but neither wanted to say it. Despite her stubborn nature, and her intense desire to win in all battles, including silent ones, Hermione decided she wouldn't leave without asking him what she'd knocked on his door to ask.

"Do you, uh, have somewhere to go? You know, on Christmas day?" She shifted her weight from her left foot to her right, then back again. She bit her lip; now she'd come to it. "Because if you don't, I could, you know, stay here." Draco raised an eyebrow. "If you want, I mean, I – no one should be alone on Christmas." Draco was dumbfounded. She would stay, miss the Weasleys, miss the Christmas feast and the presents and the jolly good time, just to keep him company on a somewhat more special day than most? There was no way he would let her do that. And he actually did have plans.

"I do have somewhere to go on Christmas."

Hermione let out her breath in relief. She would have kept her word, but it wasn't something she especially wanted to do. "Really? Are you going home?"

Draco laughed. "Uh, no. Not quite. Lucius would rip me apart, in as many ways as he possibly could. And my mother would cry, and say she's missed me, and then go for the traditional Christmas bottle to wash away my memory once I'd left. No, I don't really have a home to go to."

"Where are you going? If I may ask."

"You may. I will be visiting the couple you saw in New Zealand."

"Oh. Who are they?" she asked, hoping he would just sort of forget that he'd refused to tell her.

But he didn't, of course, and he said, "Now, now, you know I'm not planning on telling you for 20 years."

She sighed. "Can't blame a girl for trying, can you? Uhm, well, Happy Christmas, then."

"You too, Granger."

Hermione gave a little wave and closed his door. Draco listened as she walked down the stairs and then out the front door, and Disapparated with the characteristic _pop!_ He listened for a long time after she'd left, not sure what he was waiting to hear. He always hated it when she left; the house lost its light, and it was nearly as depressing as before she and Harry had moved in. But at least he knew she was coming back, and that made it just slightly more bearable.

**ooo**

Christmas day was perfect in Hermione's opinion. It snowed at the Burrow, six inches, and all the Weasleys plus she and Harry had a gigantic snowball fight before opening presents. Harry and she told them a little about traditional Muggle wars, and Fred and George insisted they do a mock Muggle war, something like 'Capture the Flag.' They set up rules and boundaries, and split into teams; the fight lasted all morning with no winner.

The war was suspended for lunch, and then after lunch everyone took their presents down into the main room to open them together. Hermione's gifts were all predictable – food, a sweater, books, pens, fancy parchment. Finally, she was down to one gift, but she had already opened something from everyone in the room. She frowned as she picked up a slim envelope, wondering who the giver could be. Only her name was written on the front of the envelope, in strict, careful letters.

Hermione turned the envelope over to examine the back; a red wax seal of a toucan fastened the envelope shut. She smiled at the bird, and felt an overwhelming surge of curiosity to see just what Malfoy had sent her. When she broke the seal, a small piece of parchment fell into her hands. In the same strict letters was written, "Fifteen years; three cherries." There was no signature, but it needed none. The smile took over all the features on her face, and she relished the connection she shared with her former worst enemy. She met Harry's eye and he winked.

**ooo**

On a tropical island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, Draco woke to a very different Christmas day from Hermione's. The sun was shining, a slight breeze was blowing, and Steve and Jane Granger were outside sitting in beach chairs, sipping lemonade. Before joining them, he opened the small pile of gifts at the foot of his bed.

Harry's gift was a gag – a miniature flying broom with flashing lights and a voice screaming, "Go England, Go!" Draco laughed and set the thing free to fly around his room. Steve and Jane gave him a set of books by a famous wizard named Rick Steves about traveling through Europe the Wizarding way.

He expected no more gifts, though he felt a slight pulling of something very curiously in the area of his heart that he didn't have another gift to open, just one more. He sighed, finally accepting the fact that a gift wasn't going to materialize in front of him. He put the books on a shelf, and set the hideous broom trinket on the night table. He was just about to join his friends when a snowy white owl flew into his room.

Draco smiled. "Hello, Hedwig, what are you doing here?" he said, petting the owl and removing a thick letter from her leg. Draco gave Hedwig a treat, thanked her, and sent her back to Harry.

The envelope, however, did not have Harry's handwriting on the outside. It was much more circular and loopy, and the envelope was sealed with a wax imprint of a silver otter. He frowned, and opened the letter cautiously.

_Dear Draco,_

_It's a few days before Christmas, and I'm sitting in Ginny's room, thinking about what a wonderful time I'm having. I thought of you, and wondered if you too were having a good time. Then I turned to the list of gifts I bought for everyone, just to triple-check one last time, and I realized that I hadn't put you on the list, and so hadn't bought you a gift. _

_But then, what do you get for the man who has everything, or at least can get anything he wants at with no trouble? Anything really nice I can't afford, especially on my current salary (which, as you know, is next to nothing). And anything less would be something you didn't really need anyway, like that flying broom thing Harry got you. Seriously, what are you going to do with that?_

_I thought and thought and thought, and then it hit me. Something I've been trying to give you all this time, since you showed yourself to be something other than an impossibly evil monster, even before you fell back into our lives. I wasn't even able to think about it until very recently. But when I woke up this morning, I felt different. I can't tell you how, or put a name to it, but I felt different. And it hit me just now what it was. I felt it, all through me. Like it was part of my blood. I don't know what's so special about today, but today is the day._

_I want to tell you about it first, though. You told me, months ago, that I shouldn't hate, that it does awful things to people. You're absolutely right. I experienced it first-hand after you killed my parents. I hated you with everything I had. I would lie awake at night, imagining different ways to kill you, slowly and painfully. It became something of an obsession. At the Ministry, I asked to take over your case, and I made myself sick a number of times because I spent every waking breath, every ounce of energy, trying to find you. And I was pretty sure I wasn't going to turn you in when I found you, either._

_Harry and Ron really worried about me. I became sickly thin, but I didn't care. I didn't want to eat, I didn't want to take care of myself. All thought was bent on **you**, on destroying you as you'd destroyed me. Months passed without a single word of you, and it nearly drove me crazy. Harry even suggested I talk to someone, but I was beyond rational, and naturally told him to stuff it. I didn't need to **talk **to someone, I needed to **kill **someone. You._

_I came up with the perfect plan toward the end of November last year. I lived for it. Every day I woke up and imagined your face when I finally found you and pointed my wand at the place where your heart should be and took your life. I really think I might actually have done it. It scares me, still, to think of how close I came to doing something that could never be taken back, could never be erased. I can think about it clearly now, and I am certain that you would have haunted me even more if I'd killed you than you already did. I probably would have ended up in St. Mungo's._

_Back to the plan. I went to your house the day before Christmas; of course I knew where your house was. You were my obsession; the idea of killing you was my oxygen. I brought an Invisibility Cloak, and supplies to last a few days. I would sit, outside your house, and just wait for you to come home. Surely you would come home for Christmas. I had plenty of books to entertain me until your eventual arrival. _

_But you didn't come home Christmas Eve. You didn't come home on Christmas Day. I saw your parents leave in a hurry before noon and then return just before dinner. But you never came. Even if you had Flooed, I figured I might still **see **you. Somehow. Though, admittedly, rational thought wasn't highest on my list of priorities. I stayed that night. You didn't show the day after Christmas either. _

_My stomach sank as I realized you weren't coming at all. I packed up my little camp and went to the Burrow, utterly defeated. Harry and Ron were there for me, as I cried and cried; I cried so hard that I didn't think I could ever stop. I told them where I had been, and why, because of course they didn't know, and they'd been insane with worry. They were shocked, especially by how much thought I had put into my plan, but at the same time, I know a part of them understood. _

_That night, I released my hate. I cried for hours, releasing all of my anger over my parents' death. Harry, Ron and Ginny took turns sitting with me, holding my hand and calmly reassuring me that I would be okay, that I was strong, that I would be **okay.** I cried because of my parents, and I cried because of what I had become. I had plotted and designed the vicious murder of another person. It scared me. I didn't want to be that person anymore. _

_It took a while, a few months, to feel the slow lifting of that weight off my heart. But it lifted, finally, and I felt free from that prison I'd created for myself. Because you were right; hating you ate up my insides, it left me hollow, and probably would have killed me, whether I killed you or not. _

_I had two months of a tentative kind of peace, and then you reappeared in my life. I was scared that I might start hating you again, and would want to kill you all over again, but I didn't. I didn't really feel anything. I was numb, and I was thankful I didn't return to that person I had been. _

_So I no longer hated you. But I still couldn't stand you; you'd still killed my parents, and that would never change. It was hard at first, living with you. Sometimes I forgot that I didn't hate you, and sometimes I forgot that I ever had. Part of me couldn't see you as the big, bad Death Eater. I saw you as a twelve-year-old boy who'd called me a dirty name, standing with his broom and showing off for the older boys. A boy who didn't really know what life was about yet. _

_Then, I started to see that you weren't that boy either, anymore, and it was like a hammer to the head. I didn't want to accept it, because I didn't know you any other way. I told you once I had you pegged, but I have since learned what you told me then – that I know nothing about you. And then I realized you deserved a fresh start. I didn't hate you, and I needed something from you before the end – I needed to have you hear me say this, what I'm about to say now. For both of us, maybe. Maybe you really are sorry you killed them, I don't know. I didn't say anything that night you apologized._

_Now, just because I do this doesn't mean I approve of what you did. I obviously do not, in any way, and never will. Nor does it mean that I accept this about you. But I have discovered, in these months I've been around you, that you can be so much more than what you expect of yourself. And I think I know that something like this won't ever happen again, right? If you are truly sorry for what you did, then you couldn't do it again. Maybe that's why you stopped._

_And I'm not saying I have this special ability to give you the perfect thing. This is the only thing I can give you. I will always miss them, and I will never forget them. But I can forgive you for taking them from me. I will never understand why you did it, and I don't really think I want to. Maybe in twenty years you can tell me, and maybe I'll be able to listen. Though I'm not holding my breath._

_But, all that said, I forgive you. For both of us._

_Happy Christmas._

_Hermione_

He stared at the letter. He read it again. And then for only the second time in his adult life, Draco Malfoy wept.

**ooo**

After ten minutes, when he'd begun to compose himself, there was a soft knock on his door.

"Come in," he said, wiping his eyes.

Jane Granger entered his room, one of two in the little bungalow he had built together with Jane and her husband, Steve. There were windows everywhere, with no glass; only tarps to keep the rain out. There were two bathrooms, a kitchen, a sitting room and a large porch. It wasn't much, but it was his; it was all he needed.

Behind the house was a deck and a large garden. Draco had charmed the ground to become soil, since nothing would grow in the sand. The Grangers grew all kinds of vegetables, plus they'd even planted a few fruit trees – apple, orange, and cherry. Spring was when Draco enjoyed visiting the most. The garden gave off a sweet scent, and all the flowers were in bloom.

There were trees that provided shade for the garden, to keep away the constant sun. And there were even two palm trees close enough to each other to hang a hammock from.

"Draco?" said Jane, "Are you up?"

He turned to look at her. He was sitting on the bed in the same place he'd read Hermione's letter. She saw he had tear streaks running down his face.

Jane sat beside him and pulled him into a motherly hug. "There, there, now." Draco started spilling tears again, silently. "What's this about?" she asked.

He sniffed, not even ashamed to cry in front of this woman. She'd been there the first time he'd wept as well. "Your daughter," he started, his voice shaking, "just forgave me for killing you." Mrs. Granger held Draco even more tightly. "She's just – amazing."

He didn't see her smile. "We're rather attached to her ourselves," she said.

"I – there's nothing I can even say to this." Draco handed Hermione's mother the letter, and she read it, tears filling her eyes as she did.

When she finished, she returned it to Draco. "My poor little girl," She whispered.

"It's not fair; she should be here with you, not me."

"Draco, tell me honestly . How is she?" Jane asked, handing Draco a tissue.

He wiped his eyes. "She seems fine, I suppose. Good, considering everything that's happened. Harry worries about her being so absorbed in what's going on that she doesn't let herself have fun, or experience the good things in life."

"Like what?"

"Well… he's talked a good deal about…" Draco looked toward the window. "Love."

"Uh-huh," said Jane, drawing Draco's attention back to her. She quirked an eyebrow.

Hastily, Draco added, "Which is ridiculous, if you ask me. I think she's right about not getting into something with so much going on."

"But Draco, caring for someone is what makes life worth living. Hermione cares for Harry, which helps her do the hard things she does for him and for the War. From what you've said, it sounds like she cares a good deal about you too."

He grimaced. "That's just it. I'm not sure I want her to care about me. You and I both know the outcome of this venture might be quite… negative for me."

"So you push her away, keep her at arm's length, because you don't want her to be hurt."

"Right."

"Because… you care about her."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, I care about her. Remember how worried you were about her when all this first happened?" Jane nodded, her expression displaying how very well she remembered. "You were nearly sick with worry, especially when I told you how she'd looked at your funeral. It's gotten better for you now, after all this time, and after hearing from me how she's doing.

"Well, I still worry about her, just as intensely. When she's ten minutes late coming back from work, I'm imagining everything that could possibly have happened to make her late. Sometimes it's so much I feel physically sick. And it's not just my promise to you. I'm not completely sure what it is. All I know is that she can be infuriating when she wants to."

Jane laughed softly. "I know exactly what you mean. But she's a grown woman, Draco. She can take care of herself, and even if she can't, she needs to be allowed to make mistakes."

"Not when those mistakes could cost her life," he said vehemently.

"Draco," she said quietly. "I am quite certain that if she cared about you, it would not cost her life. We trust that you're keeping her from any real danger."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I do my best, but she's not always cooperative." He paused, thinking. "Though I think she's starting to understand just how serious all of this is." He shifted again. "And, Hermione's life isn't in danger _from_ me, but if something were to happen _to_ me – "

"She'd get over it," Jane said matter-of-factly. "You're avoiding the issue by talking about distant possibilities. The question then becomes, what if something _doesn't_ happen to you?"

"You _know _my feelings on this matter. I – I'm not ready for anything, and even if I were, you are her mother! And you know me, probably better than anyone, so I fail to see what we're even talking about. You should not be encouraging me in this manner." He ran out of steam and his shoulders slumped. "Don't you want someone better for her?"

"Better," said Jane, thoughtfully. "What an interesting word. Better in what way? Who cares more about her than you? Who else would do anything and everything to protect her? Who else, Draco?"

"Her friends care about her."

"Not like you do."

"But I'm nothing!" he shouted. "I'm – nowhere near good enough. I want to finish this mission, and move on with whatever life I end up with. And I want her to do the same."

Very quietly, Jane said, "What if she wants you in her life? What then?"

Draco shook his head. "She's smarter than that, Jane."

"What _if_, Draco? What will _you _do?"

He looked at her, and saw that she wasn't asking just to ask; she wanted an answer.

He sighed. "I don't know. Honest. I – I don't even want to think about that. It's too much for me right now, and I have more important things to concentrate on."

"More important?"

Draco chuckled. "You sound like Harry."

"And what do you say to Harry?"

"That I'm not good enough."

"So I can safely say that this is about more than just protecting Hermione from the War."

"That's exactly what I've been trying to say!" he said, exasperated. "I don't want her to get too close."

"You've said that, but is that on her behalf, or yours?"

He shifted uncomfortably and couldn't meet Jane's eyes as he said, "Hers."

"Wrong," she said plainly. "You don't want her close because then you'd be forced to do something about it."

"And I told you, I don't know what I would do."

"Hermione may or may not feel anything special for you, I have no idea. You do feel something for her. Why shouldn't you have the chance to be happy with her?"

He adamantly shook his head. "That's never going to happen."

"Why not?"

"I may… feel things for her, but I am very much in control of myself. Even if I could be convinced that she was the only witch in all the world who could ever make me happy, I would not consign her to such a fate. I would not even give her a whisper of what I'm feeling. She deserves better."

"What if she wants you?"

Draco looked away. "This is pointless, vague speculation. I am fulfilling my promise to you. I have no hope for myself."

"I understand how you feel, but you _know _this is for the best. A time will come when you'll be able to tell her the truth, and I do mean all of it."

"I hope so," he said.

A knowing smile crossed her face as she patted his arm. "Come on, dear. Enough of this upsetting conversation. Let's have Christmas breakfast, shall we? Steve made pancakes and bangers, and I just finished making some fresh-squeezed orange juice."

He smiled. "Sounds delicious."

Jane sighed, knowing it was nearly pointless trying to talk to Draco about Hermione. She could see, through his letters, and on the few occasions she had seen him, that Draco cared much more deeply for her daughter than he let on, probably more than he let himself admit. But she was confident that time and Hermione would work together on him.

**ooo**

"Did you get everything you wanted for Christmas, Hermione?" asked Ginny.

The two girls were sitting with Harry and Ron on the Weasleys' front porch, sipping hot pumpkin juice while sitting on two large porch swings. Harry and Ron looked at her.

"Yes, I did, or at least, very nearly. You?"

Ginny cast a careful glance at Harry, and then looked at Ron, and nodded.

"Ron? It was too bad Luna couldn't join us."

He shrugged. "She had previous plans. She went on another trip with her father. Something about finding some rare something-or-other. You know her."

"Yeah, we do," said Ginny, laughing.

"What about you, mate?" Ron asked Harry.

"I'm here. What more could I ask for?"

"Ron?" asked Ginny.

"Besides Luna, yeah. If only this War would end soon," he said, taking a drink.

"It's ending," said Hermione. "Slowly, surely, it's coming to its conclusion, whenever and whatever that is."

"It's hard to think about Christmas with so much going on," said Ginny, kicking her feet.

Hermione met Ron's eyes, and he said, "Now, Ginny. Remember what I always say."

She looked up at him and smirked. "And what's that, Ron?"

"We shouldn't stop living just because there's a war."

"Because if we do, they've won already," said Hermione, smiling. "I must say, Ronald, that I quite agree with you."

Both he and Harry raised their eyebrows. "You do?" Harry said.

"Yes, I do. Ron said that to me, along with a whole list of other things, a little while ago. I didn't agree with him at the time, at least, not completely. But now, I think I do."

"Good, Hermione. Ron's completely right, for some strange reason," said Ginny, putting an arm around Hermione and squeezed her. Then she looked at Ron. "When did you get so smart?"

He grinned at Hermione. "It rubs off on me sometimes."

Harry was the last one finished with his pumpkin juice, and he set it down on the porch heavily. "Well, I think it's time for me to go."

Hermione felt Ginny stiffen and said, for her friend's benefit, "Must you, Harry?"

He looked at her, then at Ginny. "Yeah. It's late, and, well, I should go."

Hermione stood and hugged Harry. "It's too bad you weren't feeling well enough earlier to play bean ball with the rest of us."

"Yeah," he said. "It sounded like you had a great time."

"We did," said Ron, standing now too. "Harry," he started, but Hermione saw that he couldn't continue. They hugged too, and Hermione joined them, crying just a little. Ginny was openly crying, watching them, and Hermione pulled her in to into the hug too.

After what felt like nearly forever, Hermione pulled away from her friends.

"Ron, I need your help with something," she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes. "Inside."

"Okay."

"Bye, Harry," Hermione said, and with one last quick hug, went into the house with Ron.

**ooo**

Once he was certain no one would see them, Harry pulled Ginny into a tight hug.

"I miss you every day," he whispered after he pulled back, wiping her tear-stained cheeks.

She nodded. "Me too, Harry. Are you okay? Are you safe? What's going on?"

"I'm okay, and I'm safe. Seeing you is…. the best Christmas present I could have asked for."

"I know," she said quietly.

"I promise you I'm being careful. I fully intend to come home to you when this is all over."

"Can you tell me anything about what you're doing? Anything at all?"

He smiled. "I can tell you that it's good. And it's working."

Ginny smiled fully and wrapped her arms around Harry's neck. "Well, then that's going to have to be enough, isn't it?"

He kissed her softly. "For now, love," he said, then kissed her passionately for a few minutes. When they pulled back for air, they were grinning. "I had a good time with you today."

"Mmm, me too. When will I see you again?"

He shrugged and pulled out of her arms. "Who knows?" He picked up his cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. "As soon as I possibly can."

"Okay. Have you said goodbye to my parents?"

"Earlier, yeah. I love you, Ginny Potter." She smiled, but he could tell she was nearing tears again. "Be strong, Gin. For me." She nodded, and hugged him one more time.

"Later, Harry," she said.

He nodded, and left the porch, and then, with a look back at his wife, Disapparated.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thanks for reading and Happy Christmas - again:) I'm working diligently on the next chapter, and I hope to post it soon. Maybe by New Year's. And I'm also working on my challenge fics, and the Christmas one should be posted very soon on Live Journal. I'll post it here as well. Thanks again for reading, and I really hoped you liked this one!


	21. Pieces of Character

**Disclaimer: **I don't claim to have anything to do with creating the world Harry lives in. I just get to toss a few leaves around.

**Note: **Finally the next chapter! Sorry it took longer than usual. I was bushed after the holidays! I hope updates will be more regular from now on. Someone asked how long this story would be. The answer is 35 chapters, as of now. Thank you, all of you who faithfully follow this story, and THANK YOU to my beta, eilonwy for being awesome!

**ooo****  
**

**Chapter 21 – Pieces of Character  
**

Draco was standing outside his house, nervous, and feeling ridiculous for it. When he entered the house, he knew he would see Hermione for the first time since he'd read her letter.

He wasn't sure what he wanted to happen next. Did he want things to be the same as they had been before? Or different? And if so, _how _should they be different? He knew of his own danger, and how easily he could be caught in it. He didn't want a change, despite the fact there was a that part of him that did. His mind refused it, and that was how it would be. His mind was far stronger than his poorly exercised heart.

Still – what would he say to her? Should he mention the letter? Attempt to thank her, in words or otherwise? Should he ignore it, and wait for her to determine their new course?

He shook his head and before he could think about it anymore, opened the door. As he walked in, he smelled food, and he heard Harry and Hermione laughing and talking in the kitchen.

Draco smiled to himself, sent his bag to his room, and walked into the kitchen. Hermione looked up when she saw movement and grinned at him, another moment just for him. It caused alarms to go off loudly in his head.

"Look who finally decided to show up," she said brightly.

Harry turned to look at him. "Yeah, Malfoy, I expected you days ago."

Draco joined them at the table. "I know. I was simply enjoying myself too much to return until now."

"And what's all over your skin?" Harry asked with a grin.

Draco frowned and looked at his arms. "What do you mean?"

"All that – color."

Hermione giggled; Draco rolled his eyes.

"Bet the ladies wouldn't leave you alone," kidded Harry. He enjoyed opportunities to make the seemingly impervious man squirm and he knew where Draco had gone for the holiday.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat and she was hit with a mild tingle of jealousy.

"It's about time you got some color on you – you were really starting to look unhealthy," Harry continued.

Draco clenched his jaw. "Whatever, Potter. It won't last. Never does. I'll be back to normal in a few days."

"Pity," said Harry. "You're usually so pale, you're almost blue."

"Am not," said Draco, half smiling. He punched Harry on the arm, but not too lightly, enough to sting.

"How was your Christmas?" asked Hermione.

"Wonderful, actually," he said as though surprised. He was unable to keep a smile off his face at the memory, but it still hurt him a little to think that where he'd been, _she _should have been instead. "How about yours?"

"Perfect," she said, "Except that Harry wasn't there nearly enough." Hermione kept smiling at Draco, which increased the intensity of the alarms in his head. _She's too familiar, _he realized. That wouldn't do. Defense mechanisms kicked in and he felt himself mentally backpedaling into the safe area where she was over there and he was over here, and a wide gulf stood between them.

Feeling the walls starting to close in around him, Draco stood. "Potter, we leave tomorrow."

Hermione's smile faded. "So soon?" she asked quietly.

"I know," said Harry, "But I wasn't sure, since you hadn't returned yet."

"Well, here I am. Are you ready? Is everything ready?"

"Of course."

"Okay. See you tomorrow then," said Draco, heading for his room, sparing Hermione only a cursory glance.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Hermione. It would be so easy to fall for her. He'd already come to greatly respect her, and he found he genuinely enjoyed being around her. Her quick wit and pleasant manner were calming and addictive. But she still didn't know him, and he felt certain that as soon as she did, she would hate him. Again. Wouldn't she? He didn't even really know himself, he realized. Two years ago, his life had changed, though only two other people knew it.

Jane once told him that character is who you are when no one's watching. Some smart Muggle had said it, apparently. So who was he? When no one was watching, what kind of person was he? He thought back to his childhood. From the time he was a small boy, he was a trouble-maker, a liar, a sneak and a cheat, among other things. After the night Hermione's parents were to be killed, he spent all of the time he was alone watching over Hermione, making sure she was safe, every single day. When no one was watching him, he was watching her. Did that make him a good person? He knew it didn't; he knew he would never be a truly _good _person. But it was a testament to how far he'd come that he even wanted to be close.

He had tried not to become attached to her in that time, but he'd come to love the way she bit her lit when she was concentrating, and the absent-minded way she twirled her hair in her fingers while reading. The way she sometimes walked to work, despite the dangers, to be reminded of the other world going on around her. He knew her favorite shops, cafes, and books. He knew that when she was happy, she practically skipped everywhere she went, and that she would stop in Diagon Alley for a sweet from the candy shop on her way home from work. When she was upset, she would talk to Harry – oh, how he envied Harry sometimes! – and she would try to walk along as though nothing were wrong, but _he _knew. She'd stop in at Fortescue's and order a double scoop of double chocolate, then go to her flat and watch a Muggle movie called "Sleepless in Seattle" and cry and fall asleep on the sofa.

He knew those days were more frequent than the happy days. He hated that she was upset, but he loved watching her cry in all the same parts of the movie without fail. He could set a timepiece to it. And she always left a bite or two of her ice cream to melt because she'd got so caught up in the story.

When it came time in his plan to actually be around her, he'd been nervous. More nervous than he'd ever been in his whole life because he _knew _her, and he knew himself. It would be too _easy_. He'd fallen for Hermione's quiet strength as he'd watched her, but he refused to let himself actually fall in love with her. It could ruin his plans, and besides that, what did he have to offer her? A hollow shell; not a whole person, capable of loving her like she deserved. So he'd kept his distance from her, even when it seemed she wanted to close it a little. But he checked on her every night and couldn't sleep until he knew she was asleep.

If she found out he'd been watching her for that year and a half, he knew she'd be angry, and probably slightly freaked out. She'd call him a stalker, or worse, and he knew that's how it looked. But it was nothing at all like that. He was fulfilling a promise. And if she let him tell her _why_, then just maybe she would understand. Maybe she'd forgive him. Again.

Draco heard Harry's door shut and went to check on Hermione. She'd fallen asleep outside again, and he moved her to the large swing and began to tuck her in.

This night, however, she stirred. She reached out and touched his arm. The familiar surge of energy rushed through him and he looked at her. She was smiling at him sweetly, through drowsy eyelids.

"Sleep," he said, breaking her gaze and finishing tucking her in.

"Thank you," she said sleepily and she yawned. "And don't worry, I'll never tell anyone how sweet you can be." He chuckled and looked at her; she'd fallen asleep again. He watched her sleep for just a few minutes. He'd never done that before, and he felt almost guilty doing it now. But traces of her smile remained, and she looked – beautiful. His heart clenched, and when he thought it he quickly left the porch.

In his world of black and grey, she was the light. She gave color to the oddest things in his life. And she had absolutely no idea. Her parents had been right – caring for someone else made life worth living.

**ooo**

Hermione woke the next morning and knew they were gone. She sighed and sat up. As soon as the frigid winter air hit her skin, she pulled Draco's cloak tightly around her. It kept out the wind and cold, enabling her to continue to watch the world wake up. lovely

She panicked slightly, remembering that they hadn't told her when they'd be back. A minimum of three days, she knew. After that, she'd start worrying, and stop sleeping and eating well.

Hermione's thoughts turned to Draco and, oddly, his tan. Who knew how many girls he'd met in New Zealand? _Stop being jealous_, she scolded herself, it's Malfoy! But she couldn't stop herself thinking about him that one morning when his hair had hung down into his eyes. She shivered, despite being warm. He was incredibly adorable that morning. She laughed out loud, amazed at her train of thought. _Think about those girls, _she told herself. Thinking about them was better than thinking about the sleep line that had crossed his face that morning.

_Why am I thinking about kissing him?_ She groaned. But she couldn't deny that she was starting to have feelings for him, as much as she didn't want to. It's not that she saw him much, or talked to him much. But there were all the little things – the previous night being one example. She wondered how often he checked on her. There was the fact that he did the dishes every time she cooked; there were the robes he'd given her, and his extreme protectiveness. It was different than the brotherly protection she felt from Harry and Ron. She couldn't say how it was different, it just was. Harry and Ron would run through fire to keep her safe, and do all kinds of things. And she knew Draco would too, just – differently. Maybe be wouldn't run through the fire, maybe he would put it out.

And just once or twice she'd caught him looking at her in a way that made her blush, want to scream, sing, jump, and cry all at the same time. But what did it all mean?

In the end, it all seemed to come back to what he'd done. He'd killed her parents. Even though she'd forgiven him and felt an enormous weight lifted off her heart , they were still on different sides of a line she wasn't sure he could ever cross. Was he really changed? She knew he had; there was a small, brown bird that had once had a broken wing, only now, it didn't. But was it _enough_?

**ooo**

Harry and Draco returned after four days. During their absence, Hermione had busied herself with learning healing, but she'd been at it for over a month, and though she practiced as best she could, without anyone to actually heal, she couldn't advance or improve her skills. She decided that learning healing through books alone was not enough. She made a plan to correct the lack of practice, and would implement it the next time the two men left.

The day after they left again, not even a full day after their return, Hermione used a potion she'd created to color her hair platinum blond like Draco's, and make her eyes green like Harry's. She felt guilty and terrible for breaking her word to Draco, but she rationalized it for a few reasons.

He'd asked her to learn healing, but hadn't specified _how. _St. Mungo's was generally a safe place to go, and she wouldn't look like herself, thus decreasing her chances of attracting attention. Hermione was also very thorough in all of her work; her plan was simply part of being thorough.

She knew Draco would be furious – livid – if he found out, even if she presented all her well-thought-out arguments, but her belief that she needed to practice at St. Mungo's outweighed her concern over angering him. It was, after all, his life she might be saving one day. And wasn't that what he wanted?

"Help you, Miss?" said a large woman behind the counter. She put down her copy of Witch Weekly.

"Yes. My name is Sarah Gordon. I'm to start shadowing a Healer today." Hermione had chosen to pretend that she was just out of Hogwarts, but taking a few extra classes to prepare herself for healing school. Sarah Gordon was an ambitious, smart, and determined witch, traits which Hermione didn't have to act. Sarah was also passionate about learning, and especially learning healing, though she was also a little shy.

Hermione requested time off work at Flourish and Blotts, saying she needed the time to prepare for an important test; they granted it.

The woman frowned. "You're sure it's today?"

Hermione bit her lip and frowned. "Um, yes, I got an owl about it last week. Healer Watts wrote me."

"Let me page him."

After a few minutes, the Healer Hermione had randomly chosen to contact, requesting to shadow, appeared at the front desk. He was pleasant-looking, and he smiled warmly at her, extending his hand.

"Miss Gordon, it's nice to meet you," he said, in a thick Australian accent.

Hermione shook his hand. "Likewise, Healer Watts."

"Please, call me David," he said, still smiling.

"All right, David. I'm Sarah."

"Follow me, Sarah." David walked toward the lift. "So, you think you want to be a Healer," he said.

"Oh, I _know _I do! I've read lots of books on the subject, and I really want to try for it."

The elevator took them to the Spells floor, and he led her into his office. "What exactly do you mean, 'try'?" he asked, taking his seat across from her.

She blushed. "Well, if possible, if it's okay, I mean, just simple spells. I'd like to maybe actually do a few things with patients. Under your supervision, of course."

He looked at her intently for a moment. "It wasn't too very long ago that I discovered my desire to be a Healer. I was just as excited as you are now. So tell me, what would you do if someone came in with purple extremities and a slow heart rate?"

Without missing a beat, Hermione said, "I would perform the Torin spell to check for blood flow problems. If there were none, I'd use the Branchwine counter-spell. If there were, the surgeons would have to remove the obstruction."

Watts continued to look at her. "Well, Miss Gordon, I think some hands-on experience can be arranged."

**ooo**

Harry and Draco returned on the second Tuesday after they'd left, and Hermione found that going to St. Mungo's every day was much more difficult with them around than it had been when she was alone. She had to be careful to hide her appearance potions, to change herself back before they saw her, and to generally keep up the façade that she was going to Flourish and Blotts every day.

In addition to the practical aspects of her scheme, she had to act like nothing was amiss. They knew nothing, but her guilty conscience made her extra sensitive and jumpy whenever either Harry or Draco asked about her day. She was a terrible liar, as a rule, and she hated hiding the truth from them when they, especially Draco, had put their trust in her.

When they were gone, it had been easy to justify her actions, but every time she looked at Draco now, she felt guilty. She'd hoped they'd leave again right away, but they told her they'd be there for at least a week.

The time she spent at the hospital was invaluable, however, and that fact kept her motivated. She saw all kinds of awful things caused by spells and people's cruelty; she saw the work of Death Eaters firsthand. She saw the Dark, evil spells they used to injure and maim; she saw the victims of attacks where they used Muggle methods to hurt and kill; she saw what they did to children. It made her sick, but at the same time, it fortified her in her convictions and in the intensity with which she worked.

David, who was actually Hermione's age and only a few years older than "Sarah" was supposed to be, seemed to be taking a more than professional interest in her, as he always had lunch with her and allowed her to do increasingly more risky and invasive healing procedures. Hermione knew she was taking a huge risk, playing with David's emotions, but she needed the experience.

One evening, after Hermione's shift, David found her and asked her to have dinner with him since they'd worked through the usual mealtime on a particularly difficult patient. She blushed and said, "Oh, David, I'm flattered, but tonight isn't a good night."

He looked a little sad, then said, "Another time?"

"I'm not supposed to go anywhere but here and then back home." Which was almost true; she was supposed to go to the library and then to the Edge.

"How about dinner here, then. Tomorrow."

"Maybe. I'll let you know if I can when I see you in the morning." Hermione wasn't the least bit interested in David, but she thought that "Sarah" should be. And honestly, it was only dinner, and at the hospital.

David smiled. "Tomorrow, then. I do hope you can stay for dinner. You have such a passion for healing and for learning. It's very refreshing." David took her hand and kissed it, then bowed slightly and walked toward his office.

Smiling, Hermione Disapparated. Before entering the house, she drank the potion to return her hair and eyes to their correct colors and consistencies: brown and brown.

"Oh, Granger, too bad; I really like the blond," sneered Malfoy, who'd been lurking in the shadows on the front porch, waiting for her. He stepped into the light.

Hermione jumped, startled, then glared at him, annoyed at his tone and the fact that she'd been caught.

"So," he asked conversationally. "Where have you been?"

"Where do you think?" she snapped.

"Tsk, tsk, Granger. Attitude. And actually, we don't know."

"I – was at work."

Draco was shocked that she would lie to him when he so blatantly knew it was a lie. "No, you weren't."

"Are you checking up on me?" she asked, trying to preserve something out of the exchange.

"No, we actually needed you today. We sent an owl requesting that you be asked to return home immediately, but the bird came back with a note saying you weren't present. In fact, they told us you hadn't been there in over two weeks."

She resigned herself to his wrath, and would not fight because she'd broken her word.

"I repeat: where have you been?"

"St. Mungo's," she said, blankly.

He blinked, frowning. "Why?"

"I did what you told me to do. I read every book I could find, learned every spell I could, but it did little good without practice." She took a deep breath. "So I owled a Healer and asked to shadow him, telling him I wanted to be a Healer and wanted some exposure before I decided for sure. I convinced him to let me try some things, on patients."

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was astonished at the lengths to which she would go to learn, and despite his insistence that she go only to certain places, he couldn't help but be a little grateful. Despite the fact that she'd broken her word to him, which he had fully believed she would keep, he knew that she would only have done so if she thought the need was extreme. What she learned could save his or Harry's life very soon. He was also surprised to find that he wasn't angry at all, but quite the opposite – he was impressed.

He smiled at her, a genuine smile full of respect. "Okay. Is it helping?"

She had obviously expected him to pitch a fit because she was slow to answer. "Um, yes, it is."

"Good." He didn't want to actually tell her she could continue – stubborn Malfoy pride. "So what's with the disguise?"

"Well, I couldn't just tell them my real name, now could I? And as much as I don't like it, I'm easily recognized." She kept waiting for him to explode.

"True," he said. He walked close to her, too close, until he was less than a foot away; her heart started pounding. "I don't think the blonde look suits you; this way is better," he said softly. Then he opened the door and stepped into the house.

She stood rooted to the spot and he turned around to her. "Coming?"

"Aren't you going to yell at me?"

He laughed. "No. Come on; you missed dinner, but I made dessert." He walked further into the house leaving the door open for her.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Yay! So what did you think? Like? Love? Hate? Let me know:)


	22. Hanging By Threads of Palest Silver

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter, or any of that.

**Note: **Song title taken from lyrics in the song "A Stroke of Luck" by Garbage. And thank you to eilonwy for being an amazing beta. Seriously.

**ooo **

**Chapter 22 – Hanging by Threads of Palest Silver**

Hermione continued at St. Mungo's for another two weeks. David was very kind, and by the end, she was helping him diagnose serious conditions and working with him and other Healers to determine the best course of treatment. It was rewarding, but she was anxious to be done. She still had her task to complete for Draco, and she was exhausted every night when she returned to the Edge.

On her last day, David took her out of the hospital for lunch, refusing to hear her protests. He took her to the most expensive place in Diagon Alley and insisted she get whatever she wanted, including dessert. Hermione felt strange, since she'd told him once that she wasn't interested in a relationship, but all through the meal he was strictly professional and wished her the best of luck in her career choice and let her go home early.

When she got to the Edge, she was surprised to find Harry and Draco back early from their most recent mission. They were at the kitchen table, devouring what must have been all the leftovers in the house. She noticed they looked very worn-out.

"Hey," she said, sitting down with them.

"You're home early," said Harry with a mouth full of potatoes.

She smiled. "Yup. And I'm done at St. Mungo's. I cannot tell you how thankful I am."

"Really?" Harry asked. "I thought you liked it."

"I did, but it's tiring, and it's not what I really want to do anyway. I'm thinking of taking a day off just to relax." She sighed.

"Oh, Granger," said Draco, reaching into his robes and pulling out a slip of parchment. "Would you mind picking up a few things in Diagon Alley? Mostly potions ingredients, but a few other things as well."

She took the slip from him. "No, not at all. And I think I'll stay at my flat tonight. I haven't been there in months, and there are a few things I'd like to pick up. I'll be back first thing tomorrow."

Draco frowned. "Your flat? Is it safe?"

"Of course it is," she said irritably. "And it's just one night."

"Well… I suppose it's all right," said Draco.

Hermione looked at him incredulously. "You don't get it, do you? I'm not asking your permission!"

He regarded her coolly. "I realize that, but I can also make sure you _can't _go, if I choose."

"Is that so?" she asked, her cheeks reddening from anger.

"Hey, hey," said Harry. "Hermione, Draco. We just got back and I've got a raging headache. Please don't yell at each other right now. Draco, Hermione will be fine. Hermione, he's just trying to make sure you stay safe."

Draco reddened then too, and refused to look at either Harry or Hermione.

"Fine," said Hermione. "I'm going to get a few things together, and then I'm leaving."

Draco still wasn't happy about Hermione being gone for the entire night, and he complained to Harry once she'd gone. "Harry, how could you just let her go? How am I supposed to keep my promise when I can't leave this place or be seen anywhere?"

"Hermione's a big girl, Draco. She'll be fine. Plus, she's an Auror.

"She's not untouchable," he protested.

"Malfoy, please. It's one night. What's going to happen?"

**ooo**

Hermione went directly to Diagon Alley and purchased the items Draco had requested. The tab at the Apothecary was astonishingly high, and she wondered at just what he'd ordered. Then she went to Eyelops Owl Emporium and bought treats for their owls.

When she returned to her flat, it was cold and dark and a little creepy. A thick layer of dust had settled on everything. Hermione was very tired, though, and immediately started collecting a few personal items: a frame with a picture of her, Ron and Harry; her favorite pair of pajama pants; a few books she'd been missing; her best bottle of lotion. Then she went to bed, not even bothering to change into pajamas.

In the small hours of the morning, something woke her from a sound sleep. Her eyes flew open, her heart instantly racing. She grabbed her wand from the nightstand, and lay in bed listening, not wanting to let the intruder to know she was awake. Finally, she heard her door open.

It sounded like a single person entered the room, and she was afraid the person would hear her heart beating through her chest. The person came near to her bed and sat down. She moved to hit him, either with her hand or a spell, but he grabbed her wrist and flung her back on the bed.

"Filthy Mudblood," same a distantly familiar voice. Lucius Malfoy removed his Death Eater mask and her eyes widened in horror when she saw him. He smirked, the master of the expression, and cast a silencing and a binding charm on Hermione. Her mind was spinning; _how_?

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Don't worry, you piece of filth. I'm not going to kill you – not tonight, anyway." He took her face in his hand and traced the outline of her chin with a gloved finger, almost lovingly. "Honestly," said Lucius with disdain, "I can't see what he sees in you." Then he hit her, first with his fist, then with the full force of his wand.

**ooo**

Draco sat straight up in bed, heart racing, and drenched in sweat. He threw on a shirt, grabbed his cloak and wand and went to Harry's door, pounding on it to wake him.

"Harry, get up now. Hermione's in trouble." Harry joined him in less than a minute.

"Where is she?" he asked, running down the stairs after Draco.

"Her flat," he said. They Disapparated, but instead of arriving in her living room, as they'd intended, they found themselves about fifteen blocks from Hermione's place.

"Bugger," said Draco swore and took off running when he got his bearings.

"What?" Harry panted, trying to keep up with him.

"It's a Death Eater. Come _on_."

"How do you know?" asked Harry.

"I just do." He tore away from Harry, who had trouble keeping up with him. They arrived at Hermione's building in minutes. Draco knew the code to get in and punched it furiously. He ran up four flights of stairs, not even getting short of breath.

He opened Hermione's door as if he'd done it a thousand times and after a quick survey of the outer rooms, ran into her bedroom.

Hermione was tied up on her bed with duct tape over her mouth, and Harry thought it was odd that the assailant would use duct tape. But he didn't linger on it long. She had blood on her face, and she didn't look up at them when the door opened.

Draco ran to her side and untied her hands. "Granger," he said, his voice and hands shaking. "Wake up."

She slowly opened her eyes. When she saw Draco, they widened and she started squirming, trying to speak. He held the edge of the tape and she became still.

"I'm sorry," he said, then ripped it off.

She cried out briefly and whispered, "We have to leave. Now." She tried to stand, but faltered. Draco steadied her.

"What? Why?" asked Harry.

"Where's your wand?" Draco asked her.

"I – I'm not sure. But please, trust me; we have to go now."

"Not without your wand," protested Draco.

"_Accio _Hermione's wand," said Harry, and both Draco and Hermione watched as her wand flew out from under a dresser and into his hand. He tossed it to her and she caught it.

They tried to Disapparate, but found themselves unable. "He's put a ward up," said Hermione, starting for the door.

"Who?" said Harry, as Draco led them to the door.

Just as Draco put his hand on the doorknob, someone else threw open the door. Harry, Draco and Hermione stopped dead in their tracks.

Lucius Malfoy entered the room and disarmed all three of them at once. He looked at Hermione with a leer, then Harry, then Draco.

"Hello, son," he sneered. "Well, well, well. I must say, I was quite surprised that someone showed up so quickly." He looked at Draco when he said this. "I expected Potter, but Draco, I am surprised to see you here. You disgust me," he said, spitting hatred with his tone.

"I knew the Dark Lord didn't question your absence, so neither did I. But to find you've stooped so low. I can only trust that your current mission is highly important, since it involved Potter here." He looked at Hermione and sneered. "I just can't believe you would _volunteer _for such a dirty job." He looked back to Draco. "But then, you are his favorite, so he must give you first pick of assignments." He said the word 'favorite' with such venom that Hermione flinched slightly. "Though why you would _choose _one involving that – thing – is beyond me. It must be an extremely gratifying task."

The entire time Draco merely watched his father, refusing to display any emotion whatsoever. When he spoke, it was clear and edged with ice. "Who are you to question to Dark Lord's judgment?" Despite the calmness with which Draco spoke, he was angry beyond anything he'd ever felt before.

Lucius smirked. "It is certainly not my place to question _him_ – but _you_ are a different matter." Lucius waved his wand and Harry and Hermione were flung against the wall and magically held there. "Come, _son_, we have much to discuss."

"My wand. _Now_," said Draco through gritted teeth.

Lucius glared at him, but obliged. Hermione fought back tears as she watched Lucius and Draco leave her room.

"Harry," she whispered, once the door had shut behind the pair.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Are you?"

She only nodded. "Did you – did you know? At all? Did you suspect?"

"Hermione, it can't be what you're thinking. There must be some explanation for what just happened. I trust him, remember?"

Hermione looked at him, fear still etched in her eyes. "Really?"

"With my life," he said firmly.

**ooo**

Draco shut the door to Hermione's room. He had to take control of the situation and fast. "What are you doing here, Father?"

Lucius regarded his son coolly. "The Dark Lord wanted a message sent to Potter, and since he is _supposed _to be somewhere in the Far East," Lucius gave Draco a full look of suspicion. "The best way to do that was to go for the girl."

"How did you get in?" Draco asked.

Lucius smirked. "I simply Apparated. I thought she was supposed to be smart."

Draco mentally cursed himself for not demanding to know more about Hermione's defenses at her flat. "And how did you know she was here?"

"I set up a ward so that whenever she returned, I would be alerted. That was months ago, though." Lucius ran a finger over the top of one of Hermione's bookshelves and looked at it in disgust. "I'd given up thinking she'd ever return. She must have somewhere she prefers to stay. Or someone she prefers to stay with."

Draco stared at his father, unsure of what he was trying to imply. "What's the message for Potter?"

"Why are you here and not in East Asia as the Dark Lord believes? Or is that privileged information?" Lucius said with a sneer.

"It's certainly none of your concern."

"The Dark Lord trusts you, why I do not know. It seems to me that your actions tell a different story then the one you proclaim. Most importantly, that Potter is supposed to be halfway around the world, and you are supposed to be chasing him. And a so-called traitor."

Draco swallowed hard, unhappy to hear that his master had revealed his supposed plans to anyone, much less his father. "If my Master doubts me, he will correct the error – either by killing me or becoming sure of my loyalties, though he has no need to doubt me at all. It is not your place to question."

Lucius smirked broadly. "Oh, you think so? Have you not heard? The Dark Lord has a _new _favorite. You've been gone far too long, doing far too little, and one of his most faithful has been elevated."

"At least I can be assured that it is not you," Draco sneered.

Lucius snarled and grabbed Draco by the collar and shook him. "Do you _question_ the Dark Lord? Do you claim to know better than he, that you would make such a bold assumption?"

Draco ripped his father's hand away and stood to his full height. "If my Master has selected _you _to replace _me_, then I know he has lost his mind."

Lucius gasped and his eyes widened. "How – dare – you!?"

"He has told me on more than one occasion, _Father_, that he would never give you certain authorities. And as for me not doing enough for him, we shall see what your story is when I bring him Potter. I have to gain Potter's trust before I can act; I have to make him think I've changed. When I deliver him, it will be a monumental betrayal, and I will forever be remembered by the Dark Lord – and the world – for what I've done. Just what have _you _to show? Nothing," he spat, glaring at his father.

Lucius glared back, seething. "At least I am _here _where he needs me."

"What is the message for Potter? And why her and not Weasley?" Draco demanded. He needed more information about this latest musing of the Dark Lord.

"Weasley," Lucius spat, "is essentially useless. The Dark Lord always keeps an eye on the Mudblood and Weasley. The Mudblood is much more interesting; Weasley stays at home. Our Master believes that he is no longer involved with Potter's plans."

"But _she _is?" Draco blanched at the thought that the Dark Lord had someone watching Hermione. They couldn't be watching _too _closely, or he would have seen him. But still; if they knew where she lived, then they knew where she worked.

"The message is for Potter, not _you. _Once we're finished here, I'll deliver it. Don't concern yourself with it." Draco knew that his father's intention was to belittle him and indicate that he had a job Draco wasn't privy to.

"I did give her a few… other messages, should you desire an excuse to exercise your skills of persuasion. And son, I do not mean in a painful way."

The very thought made Draco's blood boil. "And how would _you _know, Father? I thought people like her were off limits. That's what I've always been told, anyway."

"Mudbloods have their uses," he replied slyly. "It is good to know what they are, and to utilize them as needed."

Draco could barely think. He would kill his father with his bare hands if he'd touched Hermione.

Lucius laughed, a cold, calculating laugh. "You cannot be serious, son! Angry over that Mudblood? What's got in to you? Surely you haven't been getting friendly with her to convince Potter. That is _not_ something to be done with them. They are for using. Don't worry; I saved her for you though. Well, most of her. I must admit, I never imagined I'd meet _you_ here." Lucius moved toward the door. "I'll let our Lord know I saw you, and that you're doing your – _job_ – well."

"Expelliarmus!" shouted Draco, catching Lucius off guard. His wand flew out of his hand and he was flung across the room. Draco ran to where his father had fallen and grabbed the front of his robes. "Never, _ever_, call her that again, do I make myself clear?" said Draco hissed through clenched teeth, and dropped him, backing away, wand trained on his chest.

Lucius slowly stood and faced his son. "Draco," he said calmly, stepping closer to him, an evil glint in his eyes. Very quietly, he said, "She tastes delicious. Sweet, and innocent." He moved closer. "You really should try for yourself. Only, I won't have any little halfbloods running around, I cannot have that. I am, after all, still your father."

Draco saw red. He wanted to kill his father – he'd kill anyone that hurt Hermione. He brought his wand to point directly at Lucius' heart. But he couldn't say the words.

Lucius laughed, a laugh full of hatred. "Going soft, son? What's the matter? Has the Mudblood turned you into a soft, weak, Muggle-lover?"

Draco's hand shook with rage, but as he glared at his father over the point of his wand, he thought about Hermione's letter. She'd said she hoped he wouldn't kill again. He knew he was at a cross-roads – kill and be done with a man he'd loathed for years, a man who'd hurt Hermione – or let him go. No, he couldn't just let him go. But he knew he didn't want to kill again. He breathed a sigh of relief as he realized this.

"Come on! What are you waiting for?" urged Lucius, an arrogant and crazy glint in his eye.

"Stupefy!" said Draco. His father fell onto the floor unconscious.

Draco instantly left him and went to help Harry and Hermione. He released them from the spell Lucius had cast, and went to heal Hermione's wounds. But she flinched under his touch, and then he looked at her. The look he saw on her face was too familiar. He'd seen it many times on people's faces – fear. Some little part of his heart, the part that was starting to heal, to see the beauty of the world, broke.

He dropped his arm. "Don't look at me like that Hermione," he said, turning away from her. Hermione saw hurt in Draco's eyes before he put up a wall to hide from them.

"What did you expect, Draco?" asked Harry. Then he mouthed, "She doesn't know," over Hermione's head.

Draco didn't respond to Harry and looked at Hermione. Then he took a deep breath and went back to the door. "You are free to leave anytime you want. I apologize for my Father. I have to deal with him." Then he left the room and shut the door behind him.

His first emotion was stark emptiness. He never realized how much he'd come to assume that Hermione trusted him, that no matter what, she would believe in him, just as he would protect her and take care of her, no matter what. He laughed bitterly. He'd managed to fool himself into thinking he'd ever held her trust. Draco looked at his father's slumped body and felt utter despair. His mind was spinning with ideas as to what he should do next, and about what would become of their efforts. One thing he knew for certain: he could never – _would_ never – go back to his former life. And he would have to start over with trying to be free of it. He sighed heavily and mentally steeled himself for the road ahead – alone.

**ooo**

Harry looked significantly at Hermione. "If he was working for Voldemort, he wouldn't have just let us go."

"No, you're right, he wouldn't. But he didn't even try to defend himself, or stick up for himself."

"He must have thought you wouldn't listen; he didn't seem too concerned with my opinion," Harry said pointedly.

"I'm sure I would have, Harry; right? After all we've been through together?" She frowned, rubbing her wrists where she'd been bound, then shook her head sadly. "Only the awful thing is, I can't say for sure." She couldn't be certain she'd have given him the chance to talk, much less explain himself.

**ooo**

Draco took his father home, to the house he'd grown up in, taking him to his study and Obliviating his memory of seeing his son. Then he sat staring at the man who'd poisoned him his entire life with hate and darkness. The desire to kill rose in him again, and this time it was easier to push away since he'd already resisted the urge once. He hoped it would continue to get easier.

He sat down on the couch and fought back tears. Hermione didn't trust him, even through everything. She'd believed his father. She'd believed his weak attempt to deny that his son would betray him. The man was off-center. He'd rather make up a story to prevent anyone – even himself – from seeing that Draco had betrayed the Dark Lord. But she had believed it. And why did it hurt so much? He would never betray them, especially Hermione. Didn't she _know _that? Draco banged his head against the wall. He sat in his father's study, dreading returning to the Edge. What if he ran into her? Finally, he decided he had to leave or risk being seen by his mother. He put a timed spell on his father to wake him, then left through the window, Disapparating as soon as he was beyond the border of the Anti-Apparation field around his house.

The house was dark. Draco went straight to his room and threw his things in a bag. He scoffed bitterly – his whole life now fit into a rucksack. But he couldn't leave; he had nowhere to go. He sat down hard on his bed and put his head in his hands. He had to think, to get out quick. He would go back to the Grangers. He would stay there for a while, and figure out a new plan. But what about Hermione? Lucius had been sent to her, and if he left, she would be open to attack. He couldn't protect her from so far away. Should he just tell her? And then go? Maybe, but that didn't solve the protection issue. He didn't know what his father had done to her – he shuddered at the thought – and made the decision not to abandon her, no matter what. He would just return to watching her from the shadows.

Somewhere through the rush of thoughts and fears, Draco heard a small knock on his door. He quickly pulled out his wand.

"Malfoy? It's me. Let me in," came Hermione's voice.

Draco's racing heart started to cool in his chest. He didn't want to talk to her, didn't want to hear her tell him she was sorry, but that's life after all, he'd get over it, and have a nice life. He knew she wouldn't mean it, and was only stopping by because he'd been there. Maybe she thought she at least owed him an insincere goodbye.

But part of him, the part that had grudgingly turned over to the Light and the part of him that honestly cared about her more than anything else, wanted to know she was okay. And that part, wounded though it was now, was stronger than the black part. Without a word, he opened the door. She stood in the doorway, looking perfectly fine. The blood and bruises had been magicked away, and it looked like she'd had a bath.

"Malfoy, I'm really sorry. I – "

He cut her off, because he knew what she was going to say, and it was the last thing he wanted to hear. That she was leaving. "Yeah, yeah. You're sorry. Lovely. I get it. We never change," he said nastily.

She blinked at him, surprised by his outburst. "What?"

"Aren't you here to say you're leaving?" he asked bitingly.

"No, actually, I'm not," she said, and it sounded like she was a little angry. "If you would just shut up for half a second and let me finish."

Oh. Well. Huh. He didn't say anything, just looked up at her.

"I'm sorry I didn't trust you right away. It just seemed too likely a scenario, you must see that. Once Harry and I talked about it, I saw that I was wrong."

There she went again, proving him wrong, showing him how strong she really was. And he felt bad. And relieved, so very relieved.

"Anyway, I'm not leaving." She turned to leave.

"Granger, wait," he called kindly. Hermione turned around, arms crossed. "Are you okay?" he asked. He saw her shift between her feet, then saw tears well up in her eyes. "Come here."

She hesitated to actually enter his room.

"Please." He motioned next to his bed and conjured a chair for her to sit on. She did, still hesitant. "What did he do to you?" he asked quietly, though a fresh wave of anger coursed through him.

She looked at her hands in her lap and shook her head.

"Hermione, please." It almost sounded like he was pleading, but he didn't care. In a way, he was.

It must have sounded like something true to her, because she answered. "H-he hit me."

"What else?" he asked.

"Called me awful names. He used the Cruciatus."

Draco closed his eyes, trying to calm his anger.

"Anything else?" She stared at her hands. "Hermione?"

"N-no. Not – that, if that's what you're thinking." Draco exhaled fully, not aware he'd been holding his breath. "But he told me all the things he _would_ do, if I weren't such a disgusting apparition. He was very thorough, and descriptive." She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

Draco's vision went red once again. He was actually glad his father wasn't there; he wasn't sure if he could keep himself from ripping his insides out this time. He summoned a blanket from his dresser and wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing her arms to warm her.

"Is that all?" he choked out. She nodded, letting a few tears escape her lashes. Draco took her in his arms and held her while she cried. He rubbed her back, ran his hands through her hair, and told her it would be okay, that Lucius was gone and couldn't hurt her again.

When he said that, he felt Hermione stiffen and she pulled away from him.

"Wh-what do you mean?" she asked, a horrified look on her face.

He frowned. "He won't hurt you again," he said, confusion filling his voice.

"Why?" She kept backing away from him, and he didn't want her to leave him.

"Because I won't let him. I don't want you to leave this house ever again. I – " he didn't get to finish saying that he would never let her get hurt again, that he would always be there to protect her and keep her safe, because she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely, cutting off his words.

Draco was confused, but cautiously returned the hug.

When she pulled back, she was smiling through her tears.

"What?" he asked.

"You didn't kill him?"

"No."

"Oh, Draco, I'm so glad."

He shook his head, the answer both clearing his confusion and making it foggier all at once. "Why? He hurt you. He might have – " he stopped himself; he refused to let himself think of what his father was all too capable of.

"Because. It means you made the right choice."

"I promised you I wouldn't."

She frowned, obviously trying to remember such a promise. He continued. "On Christmas. After I got your – letter. I promised you I would never kill again. And I didn't even hurt my father, I couldn't." Hermione beamed at him like he'd just received top marks on his N.E.W.T.s. "He called me soft," he muttered, scowling.

"You're anything but soft, Draco, trust me. He just wanted to get to you. Don't let him."

Draco didn't think about what he did next, he just did it. His hand acted of its own accord as it reached up to her face, his fingers taking on their own life as they gently wiped her tears away, a lone, traitorous finger lingering on her cheek.

Hermione felt something strong when he touched her, and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the usual surge between them. This feeling came from somewhere else altogether.

Her face was inches from his. He could smell her hair, freshly washed; it smelled like the flowers in her parents' garden. He could see the flecks of gold in her eyes. Every fiber of his being told him, shouted, screamed at him, to kiss her, and for a second he almost leaned closer to her. But he saw confusion in her eyes. Of course. She wouldn't want to kiss him, it was ridiculous for him to even think it. There was a small part of her than no longer found him repulsive, and he had almost ruined that.

His mind had kicked back in just in time to prevent him from doing something as monumentally stupid as kissing her. He removed his hand from her face, and pulled away reluctantly, tearing his gaze from hers.

Draco looked at his hands, now resting in his lap. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you."

Hermione was trying to force her heart to stop beating so hard. She'd nearly exploded from the intimate nature of their contact, and she could swear he'd wanted to kiss her. What had stopped him? Had she even wanted him to stop?

"Why?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't give her away.

"It's my fault. You shouldn't have been in danger. And I meant what I said. I don't want you to leave this house again."

Hermione was glad they had returned to familiar ground. She could get angry at his words, and that's what she did. Because it was familiar, and she knew how to respond. "Malfoy, this over-protection thing is getting ridiculous. I can take care of myself."

"Obviously not," he said, angrily. Anger was easy. And it was easy to let himself get angry at her. They were both so skilled at fighting.

She stood up from the bed and took the chair again, folding her arms in annoyance. "Yes, I can."

"Then how was Lucius able to get into your flat in the middle of the night?"

"I don't know," she snapped. "I had the usual security precautions in place, plus the ones Harry put on it. I even set it up so only you and Harry and I could Apparate in and out."

"How? What did you use?"

"Hair."

"Anything else?" She shook her head. "Well, apparently, my father got through. You should've used at least two items for the selective Apparation charm, probably three."

"Don't scold me, Malfoy. I get it."

"You're to stay here."

"Not a chance."

Draco's eyes flashed dangerously, but she set her jaw and glared at him. "This is my house," he said, teeth clenched. "We go by _my_ rules."

"I never signed up for that. I have my task to do for you! How can I possibly do that when I'm stuck here?" He had nothing to say to that, so he just narrowed his eyes. "I can Apparate directly into the Ministry and back. And my work."

"No. And you'll quit the job."

Hermione was really angry now. "I will NOT quit my job. It's the only thing that keeps me sane. Who do you think you are, anyway?"

Draco stood up, trying to intimidate her. "This is _my_ plan, _my_ life. I won't have you ruin everything I've worked for by getting yourself hurt or killed."

She stood up too, and since she wasn't as tall as he was, looked up into his swirling grey eyes. "And what about _my_ life? Am I just supposed to give that up for _you_?"

The way she said 'you' struck Draco and he realized that there was no way she would have let him kiss her, no way she would have entertained the thought, no way she would want him in her life once all this was over. It was abundantly clear that part of her still hated him. Fine. Let her. He still refused to give her the power to ruin _his _life.

He tapped her head with his finger twice. "Knock, knock, Granger. It's your life I'm thinking about here." She just continued to glare at him. He sighed and backed away. "You may continue going to the Ministry, but the job has to go. Take Weasley with you to quit." She looked about to protest, but he said, "It's final, Granger," in a voice that said yes, actually, it was, and there would be no further discussion. Then he sat down on the bed, picked up a book and pretended to read it.

"Fine," she said angrily. "You can be such an amazing jerk, Malfoy." She stomped out of his room and slammed his door shut.

Draco put the book down and ran a hand through his hair. He had angered her, as he had wanted. But his heart was still thumping at the thought of kissing her, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

It was better that way. He knew how to be distant with her, how to push her away, and fight with her. But he had no idea how to let her in, or if he even wanted to. There was a part of him that screamed to be seen, to be acknowledged. Hermione had been right, he was lonely. But he refused to allow her to get close to him because he knew he could only end up hurting her – it was all he knew. It would be inevitable. He didn't know how to love, and she deserved to be made full from love, to be completely and eternally adored. And he didn't think he had that in him.

**ooo**

Hermione found Harry in the drawing room. "Urrgh!" she screamed, plopping down in a chair.

Harry looked at her. "Okay, Hermione?"

"No. That – that arrogant, rude, selfish, obnoxious pig!"

Harry smiled, amused. "What did he do now?"

"He had the nerve to tell me I wasn't allowed to leave the house."

Harry cringed at just the thought of trying to tell Hermione she wasn't allowed to do something. But Draco was still alive, so maybe it was possible after all. "Why?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Because of what happened, I suppose. Seems to think I can't take care of myself." She paused, scowling even more. "Says I have to quit my job, too. I swear, he thinks he's so important, that he can just order me around like a child. Feeds his ego."

"Hermione, you're going to hate hearing this, but I agree with him." She looked at him, surprised. "Your safety is highly important to me, "Hermione."

"My safety," she scoffed. "That's not it at all. He just needs to feel power over someone, since he doesn't have his fellow Death Eater buddies to order around anymore."

Harry sighed, apprehensive about saying what he wanted to say. Oh well, he decided, she needed to hear it. "Hermione, I know you're upset, and Malfoy probably didn't do anything to make it better, probably egged you on. But did it ever occur to you that he'd doing this because he cares about you?"

Hermione was speechless. Malfoy? Care? About her? She knew he was protective, and he checked up on her a lot, but to actually _care_ about her? She was about to say she didn't think Malfoy capable of such things when she remembered the couple from New Zealand. He'd obviously cared about them. And there was always that little bird whispering in her ear that he was a completely different person.

A small, "No," was all she managed. She sat in silence, thinking about what had transpired upstairs. He had almost kissed her, she was now sure of it. But why would he do that? Was it possible he cared _that_ _much_ for her? Surely not. It was just the moment that must have confused him. And her. He was comforting her, and she was glad that he hadn't killed his father. And she told herself this over and over, but it didn't clear everything. There was the fact that her heart was _still _racing at the thought of how close he'd been. At the thought that he might have kissed her. And slowly, she admitted to herself that a part of her had wanted him to kiss her. That wasn't good.

"Harry?" she said after about ten minutes of silent berating. "Can I ask you something?"

He put his papers down and gave her his full attention. "Sure."

"Is it completely sick to have feelings for the man who killed your parents?"

Harry just barely kept himself from grinning like a nutter. Instead, he frowned. "You have feelings for Malfoy? The guy you just called an obnoxious pig?"

Hermione stood and started pacing. "I don't know!" she said, frustrated.

"Tell me what brought this on," said Harry.

"Well, just now. He-he touched me, and it wasn't like all the other times. I mean, I felt the energy surge, but that only happens at the point of contact. I felt – you know. Like you feel when you're fourteen and the boy you're crushing on smiles at you."

"Ah, with your insides squirming."

"And doing somersaults. And you think your heart will jump through your skin it's beating so hard." Hermione paused, then looked at Harry with a strained expression. "I wanted him to kiss me, Harry!"

"And?" said Harry.

"And?" she repeated. "What do you mean, 'and'! He _killed _my _parents_!"

"I know, Hermione, we've been through all this before. And I thought you forgave him, anyway."

"I did. And I still do. I just – I can't _forget_. The way they looked when I found them." Her voice broke. "How every day I miss them," she said, letting her tears fall. "How every time I look at him, I think of them. What if that never goes away? I can't be so stupid as to fall for him, I can't!"

Harry went to her and held her close, letting her get the tears out. She calmed quickly, and gave him a teary smile. They sat on the sofa.

"Hermione, don't hate me when I say this, but I don't actually think it's such a bad thing."

She frowned. "What?"

"You and Malfoy. Draco, I mean."

Her eyes widened. "Harry, you cannot be serious!"

He didn't want to give away too many of his suspicions, not wanting to give her false hope, since Malfoy had refused even to discuss the matter. But Harry knew there was something Malfoy had that neither he nor Ron could give her. "I am, Hermione. I can't tell you why right now. Hopefully someday."

She said nothing, not able to look at her friend.

"So, did he kiss you?" Harry finally asked.

"No!" she said, sounding more unhappy about it than she'd intended.

Harry grinned. "Maybe next time."

"Harry Potter, I am shocked at you!"

He shrugged. "Hey, I'm sorry, but it's what I think. And if you're starting to feel things for him… then maybe I'm not so far off as you insist."

"I – you're – but – urgh!" In a bout of frustration, Hermione stormed out of the room and outside.

Harry couldn't help but grin after her. She could be so stubborn; he hoped she wouldn't let another chance with Malfoy pass by, if one ever came.

**ooo**

**A/N**: Phew! Intense chapter, at least it was to write. Thank you for reading, and for all of you who review - MWAH! Oh, and WOW! I had 68 reviews for chapter 21! MWAH! MWAH! Thank you so much for blowing me away:)


	23. The Difference in the World

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. For the twenty-third time!

**Note: **Wow! Another 60+ review chapter! Thank you so much! And to my beta, eilonwy – a great big bunch of wildflowers and chocolate to you:)

**ooo**

**Chapter 23 – The Difference in the World**

"I cannot believe you're quitting."

"Ron, I told you. I don't feel comfortable there anymore."

"But Hermione, can't you just talk to someone? You know, fix it?"

They were sitting at a café in Diagon Alley having lunch. Hermione had done as Malfoy suggested and asked Ron to go with her to Flourish and Blotts to quit. After everything that had happened – and the thoughts of what _might _have happened – Hermione finally fully embraced the idea that Draco truly wanted to keep her safe.

She sighed. She couldn't tell Ron the _real _reason she was quitting, but she _hated _lying to her best friend. Switch around. She hated lying to her best friend, but she couldn't tell Ron the _real_ reason she was quitting. "I – I just want to put it behind me. Besides, I think I can get another job fairly easily."

"Yet you're bringing _me _with you. Hermione, since when do you need protection? I mean, you always _need _it, everyone does. But when did you start admitting it, let alone asking for it?"

She took a sip of her tea. "Ron, I guess when Harry disappeared for so long with no word, and we all thought something awful had happened to him, I started being extra careful."

"Yeah, I thought he'd been kidnapped, or worse. We were all worried sick, Mum getting more so every day that passed, and then we get a short letter from him saying he'd be at our house for Christmas. Don't get me wrong, Mum was beside herself; but I don't understand what happened. And he wasn't there long enough to really ask."

Hermione shrugged. "It was just really nice seeing him."

"But still," Ron continued. "Nothing. Not a word about what he's been up to. Don't you find that odd?"

"I'm sure he'll tell us when he's ready to, Ron. And no, I don't find it odd. If he needs to keep some things secret, that's his prerogative."

"Some _things_? Try everything. Since September."

"Are you finished eating? I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible."

"Oh, right. Uh, yeah. I'm done."

They paid their bills and walked slowly toward Flourish and Blotts. Hermione groaned when she saw that Andrew was working; he smiled and waved when he saw her, then scowled at Ron.

Hermione walked to the counter. "Hello, Andrew. Is Emily available?"

"Yeah, she's in back." Andrew looked at Ron and frowned. "Is that him?"

Hermione blinked. "Him who?"

"Your – _friend._"

"Oh. Uhm, well, he is a friend, but not the one you're thinking of." Ron looked at Hermione, eyes wide. "Please, just get Emily for me," she said. Andrew nodded reluctantly and went into the back.

"What was all _that_,Hermione?" Ron asked.

"Later," she said in a low voice.

Emily appeared, and then she and Hermione went into her office. Hermione explained that she needed to quit for personal reasons, and Emily was very understanding. It took less than ten minutes, but when Hermione returned to the main part of the store, Ron and Andrew were nearly at blows, wands drawn and aimed at each other.

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione yelled, stomping over to where he and Andrew were standing. She was thankful the store was empty of customers. She grabbed his arm and yanked it down. "Have you completely lost your mind?" she hissed.

Andrew lowered his wand. "He seems highly protective of you, Hermione. He certainly _sounds _like your friend."

Hermione rounded on him. "First of all, it's none of your business. Second, what right do you have to threaten him? Or to question me? I appreciate what I'm sure was merely good intention on your part, but I'll thank you not to stick your nose where it doesn't belong. Come on, Ron!" She grabbed Ron's wrist and dragged him out of the store.

"That was bloody brilliant, Hermione! You should have seen his face!"

Hermione glared at Ron and his smile fell. "Just what were _you _doing? Were you going to fight him in the middle of the bookshop?" They stopped walking and Hermione crossed her arms.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. It's – just been so long since – well, it felt really good to have the need to use my wand for something again. I was defending your honor, and all that."

Hermione's heart softened, and she laughed. "My _honor_?"

"And who is this – friend – I keep hearing about? Sounds a right git, if you ask me. Since when do you have friends I don't know about?"

Hermione's smile faded. "Oh, Ron." She threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly; he hugged her back, surprised at her sudden display. "I'm not ready to talk about it," she said, her face buried in his robes. "Just trust me, okay?"

Ron pulled out of the hug and put his hands on her shoulders. "Of course I trust you, Hermione. It's just – well, Ginny and I are a little worried about you."

She smiled. "Don't be. I promise I'm completely fine, okay? Just busy."

He frowned. "You're completely okay, but you just hugged me for no reason. That doesn't work in my head."

"Honest. You just have to trust me. Sure, I'm a little confused a lot of the time, but it's nothing bad, I promise. Okay?"

"Okay," he said, hesitantly.

"Now come on, I've got a few errands to run, and then we can stop for tea."

On her way, Hermione bought a copy of the Daily Prophet; it had been a while since she'd read one. While Hermione sipped her tea she looked through it and stopped, with her teacup halfway to her mouth, on page five.

The headline read: Andromeda Tonks released; Narcissa Malfoy arrested.

_Bugger_.

"Hermione? Everything okay?"

"Just a minute, Ron. I'm reading something."

'Andromeda Tonks, who has been in the custody of the Ministry since November, was released yesterday. Her sister, Narcissa Malfoy, wife of the infamous Lucius Malfoy and mother of the still worse Draco Malfoy, was arrested on undisclosed charges. Though Narcissa Malfoy has never been officially linked with any Death Eater activity, it is widely believed that she has been involved with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named since the very beginning.

'The arrest has caused a great uproar, because of the absence of firm evidence against her. However, the arrest coincided with her sister's release; it is widely believed that Tonks finally relented and cooperated with the Aurors with respect to her sister, and that they now have sufficient evidence for the arrest. The Daily Prophet will keep you informed of any and all updates as they are available.'

"Oh, no," said Hermione, stunned.

"What?" asked Ron.

"I'm surprised, is all. Narcissa Malfoy was arrested."

Ron scoffed. "You're _surprised_? Have you _met _the woman? She reeks of nastiness."

"Well, I spoke with Andromeda herself when they first brought her in, and I believed her when she told me that she and Narcissa weren't meeting for sinister purposes."

"Doesn't mean Narcissa isn't still involved, though."

"True; but the article makes it sound like Andromeda had something to do with it." She frowned, remembering her conversation with the red-haired witch. "I believed her." But Draco _had _said she was especially gifted; perhaps Hermione had been too quick to trust her. Draco had also said he didn't believe her. "I'll try to see Seamus tomorrow and ask him.

**ooo**

Hermione spent the evening working with renewed effort on the Death Eater task. Narcissa Malfoy was in Azkaban; Draco had asked _her _to help prevent that from happening after the War. So what, if anything, should she do about it now? What _could _she do?

After a few hours of work, Hermione went onto the porch, despite the gently falling snow, to watch the sea. It had been a while since she'd had the free time to spend doing nothing. She slept in her room when the men were gone because she found that no matter how many spells she tried, she just couldn't get the porch to stay warm the way Draco did and she woke up in the middle of the night cold

She was outside perhaps ten minutes when she heard the front door slam. She smiled, hopeful they'd be able to eat dinner together.

When she entered the drawing room, she saw Draco covered with bruises and sporting a bloody nose. "Oh!" she said, unnerved at seeing his perfect complexion marred by the ugly brown spots.

Harry looked up at her; Draco looked about to pass out. "Hermione, help me!"

She rushed to put his arm, the one marred by something more ugly than the bruises, around her neck and they led him up the stairs to his room. He collapsed into bed and passed out instantly.

Harry motioned for Hermione to follow him. Once in the hallway, he talked in whispers. "He needs some work. I think he's got a broken rib or two."

"What happened?"

"We were attacked. Don't be alarmed, Hermione, it happens. But the Death Eaters seem to go crazy with rage whenever they see him. This was the first time he got caught. They just hit him a bunch, no spells or anything."

"Why was he near a bunch of Death Eaters?!" she asked, not liking what she was learning – it sounded like this had happened before, though not to such an extent.

"We have to, for our work. The Horcrux. We're very close to figuring out who it is, Hermione."

"Is that good?" she asked, worried about what Draco would look like when they were successful.

"Of course," said Harry. "Do you need anything for him?"

"Uhm, some rags and warm water."

"Okay." He went downstairs to fetch what she asked for.

Hermione reentered Draco's room. He looked much paler than usual, and she bit her lip to keep from gasping. She walked to his bed and put a hand on his forehead; even through the jolt of energy, she could feel the heat indicating he had a fever. His breathing was shallow and there was sweat beading on his forehead. Then she knelt by the bed and examined what she saw – he had bruises on his arms and a huge spot on his neck running underneath his shirt. She braced herself for what she would see when she removed it and tears filled her eyes when she did. His entire chest was black and blue. There were a few places where the skin had broken from the force of the blows. Harry brought her the rags and water, and even he looked disturbed by what he saw.

"Harry, what happened to him?"

He shook his head. "He wouldn't want me to tell you. Ask him when he's better; maybe he'll tell you." Harry left Hermione to her work.

She carefully wiped the blood away, then felt his chest to check for broken ribs and found three. She healed them, and then set about examining his organs for damage. Thankfully, there was none other than a bruised spleen which she knew would heal on its own.

Next she turned her attention to mending the bruises. It took nearly an hour since there were so many points of impact. When she finished, his skin was once again flawless, excluding a jagged scar across his chest and his arm. She tried to fix the scar, but realized it had been there for a few years at least, and left it alone. He had regained a little of his color and was breathing more regularly. Then she turned to the rest of him. She'd done this a few times at the hospital, removed clothing to deal with the body, but her hands still shook as she removed his pants. His legs were only slightly bruised, but other than that he was fine. She healed the bruises and covered him.

Despite healing him, Hermione knew he would be sore for the next few days. His body had taken quite a beating. She brushed his damp hair out of his face and watched him breathe, finally in peace. She covered his torso and tucked him in, smiling at the reversal of roles. Finally, she forced down a sleeping draught that would also help with the fever, and reluctantly left the room. She could easily have stayed there until he woke, but knew she needed to see if Harry was okay.

Hermione slowly descended the stairs. Harry was sitting in the drawing room staring blankly at the wall in front of him. He looked up when he saw her.

"How is he?"

"A few broken ribs, like you said." Her eyes filled with tears. "I couldn't believe what I saw. Someone _did_ that to him."

"I know," said Harry grimly. "When I found him, they were still kicking him. I had to stun them all and then Obliviate them. So it was a little while before I could get him back here."

"Why weren't you with him?" she asked quietly.

"Sometimes we have to split up, Hermione. He knows the danger he puts himself in every time we leave this house. But he never thinks twice about it."

"Has our favorite little ferret grown up to be brave?" she asked, smiling slightly.

"Yeah. You have no idea," said Harry, taking a drink from his butterbeer. "I can't believe this is the same guy who nearly cried when you slapped him in third year." He smiled, still able to enjoy the memory of that moment. "When will he wake up?"

"Hopefully not until tomorrow. I gave him something to help him sleep."

"Good."

"Do you need any medical attention, Harry?"

"Huh? Oh, nah. I'm fine. I didn't get caught, and I took the Death Eaters by surprise, so no one touched me."

"Okay."

"And I'm beat. Just wanted to make sure he's going to be okay. Now, I'm going to sleep."

"Okay, Harry. Goodnight."

Hermione went outside, this time to cry. She cried for half an hour over what had happened to Draco. The enormity of the situation finally sank in – they could die. Harry or Draco could die in their work, and she'd find out from a piece of parchment tucked away in her robes. What would she do if that happened? She felt like she was in a different world from everyone else, even those in the Order, who still fought Death Eaters and were trying to defeat Voldemort. She fell into a restless sleep in a chair on the porch.

**ooo**

Draco didn't sleep through the night. Something woke him. Slowly he opened his eyes and realized where he was. He noticed he felt no pain, and then he noticed he wore only boxers under the blankets. He blushed in the darkness, then pulled on sleep pants and a T-shirt and grabbed his cloak. He wasn't sure why he'd woken – he felt really out of it, as if he'd been drugged. He stumbled down the stairs and through each room of the house, looking absently for something. Finally he stepped out onto the porch and saw Hermione, curled into a ball on the chair in an attempt to make herself warm. He smiled at her and watched her for a moment before moving her to the swing and covering her with his cloak. When he finished his task, he felt a wave of exhaustion hit him and he barely made it back to bed before falling asleep.

**ooo**

Hermione woke the next morning and snuggled under Draco's cloak, smiling happily. She could tell that it was quite cold outside, and was thankful for the fact that she was warm. It took her a second for her brain to register what she'd just thought: Draco's cloak. She hadn't had it the night before, as he'd taken it with him when he and Harry had left the week before. Her eyes flew open and she saw that it was indeed his cloak that covered her, and more over, she was on the swing. She stood up and swept inside, marched up to Harry's door and knocked loudly.

He didn't respond, so she banged louder. She heard noise inside the room and waited. Harry opened the door, squinting in the light.

He wasn't happy. "Hermione, do you want to wake Malfoy? Even the dead would be stirred at the racket you're making."

But Hermione wasn't happy either. "Did you check on me last night?"

He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. "No, that's his job."

"Well, someone did."

"So?"

"So, if it wasn't you and it wasn't him, then who was it?"

"Are you sure it wasn't him?"

"That sleeping potion I gave him should have knocked him out for at least a day."

"Well, I didn't do it. Maybe he did it in his sleep? Go peek in his room. And leave me alone, I'm still sleeping."

Hermione rolled her eyes but went to the end of the hall and opened Draco's door. He was passed out, face down, fully clothed and on top of the blankets. Not at all how she'd left him. _Is he crazy?_ she thought. She closed the door softly and went down to make herself breakfast. After she ate, she tidied up the house and did a bit of research on spleen injuries until lunchtime. She was just about to fix a sandwich when someone came downstairs.

Draco looked much better today, nearly back to normal, but she could tell he didn't _feel _very good. He winced as he turned the corner sharply. Hermione bit her lip; she'd yell at him later for getting out of bed and going out into the cold. And she still had to tell him about his mother; she'd wait for that, though, until he was a little stronger. He carefully sat down at the table.

"Morning," he said.

"Afternoon," she corrected. He smiled.

"So, I'm here."

"Well spotted."

"Last thing I remember… oh yes, seeing my father." He chuckled ruefully. "He must know that he's getting Obliviated somehow. Every time we see him, he's angrier at me, and he _should_ have no reason. At least, not one that he should remember."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Your father?" The implications of what he said hit her.

"Yeah. At least, he ordered it done. I think he kicked me once, I'm not really sure." He sat trying to remember, but when he couldn't remember, he shook his head dismissively. "Hey, I'm hungry."

She jumped up. "What do you want?" she asked.

"The usual," he said, grinning sleepily, which made her insides jump around like grains of rice in a hot pan.

Hermione fixed him eggs as he liked them: three, scrambled. As she handed his plate to him, she said, "You really shouldn't be awake."

He shrugged, ignoring her comment, and took a bite. "Good as always, Hermione. Thank you."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Do you remember waking up before now?"

"Vaguely. Although it might have been a dream." He took a bite of eggs, chewing methodically. "So…Harry brought me back?"

"Yes."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Just about eighteen hours."

He took the last bite of egg and Hermione took his plate to rinse it.

"And… how bad was it?" he asked.

"How bad was what?" she asked, frowning and sitting down across from him again.

"Me."

She shuddered. "Bad. Very bad."

"Well, tell me, then. What was the damage?"

"Three broken ribs, a bruised spleen, and your entire chest was black and blue. I fixed your ribs and healed your bruises, but there was nothing I could do for the spleen."

Draco blushed again at her mention of his bruises. He remembered how he'd found himself when he woke during that vague, dreamlike state, and the thought of her seeing him like that was unnerving. Then he figured she must have seen a lot worse during her time at St. Mungo's, but even still, it was _he_ she had seen. Scarred chest, ugly Mark and all.

"What's a spleen?" he asked. It was a neutral topic, and it would hopefully get his mind to stop dwelling on just what she'd done in order to help him.

"An organ," she replied.

"Yes, thank you," he drawled. "What does it _do_?"?"

"It removes old or damaged red blood cells and blood-borne antigens."

He frowned. "Sounds important."

"It is, but you can live without it."

"How do you know all this?"

"I've been reading about it. Plus I _did _spend a month at St. Mungo's."

"Let me see," he said. She handed him a book and pointed to the 'bruised spleen' section.

His eyes widened as he read. "What's surgery? It sounds terrible! And three weeks' recovery! I can't wait three weeks!" he cried, looking at her in desperation. "We have work to do!"

Hermione frowned. "Oh, no, my mistake. That's the Muggle book." She took it from him and handed him another. "Here," she said, again pointing again to a 'bruised spleen' section. "Read this."

Draco read again, exhaling in relief this time. "Oh, much better. Only two to three days' recovery if I take this potion mentioned here." He looked at Hermione.

She pointed toward the kitchen; he followed the direction of her finger and saw a large pot on the stove. It emitted occasional glopping sounds. He nodded, then looked in the book at the instructions for mixing the potion.

"Ew, it looks awful," he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"It smells awful too. I put a charm on it to keep the smell contained."

"I hope you didn't use any Muggle healing stuff on me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I didn't, Malfoy. The magical way is usually much faster."

"Good," he said, returning to read the healing book.

"Uh, Malfoy? You read about the two to three days, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's two to three days of rest. No activity, and I mean none."

Draco frowned. "You mean, no mission."

"No mission, no training, no dueling, no flying. No leaving this house. Rest. That's what I mean."

Draco looked scandalized. "What?" he cried. "What in the world am I going to do for two to three bloody days!"

"I'm sure you'll come up with something. Relax. Read. Work on that tan. I'm afraid it's a bit splotchy after my healing."

Draco took a few deep breaths. "Relax," he said, as if telling himself to do it.

"Yes. Relax. Do something fun. You _do_ know what fun is, don't you?"

She expected a nasty retort, but instead he frowned. "Uhm, to a limited extent, yes. But it was usually at someone else's expense."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, what do you do in your free time?"

Draco thought about it. For the last two years, he'd spent every free moment on her. And before that, he hadn't had any free time, fully and wholly dedicating himself to the Dark Lord and to fulfilling his every desire. He barely slept, and when he did it was deep sleep because he was so incredibly exhausted. And at school… he'd spent his free time having fun at someone else's expense. Back to that again. "I – uh – don't have much free time, as a rule. And I refuse to spend three days reading, much as I enjoy it; I'd go spare."

Hermione thought about what he could do and was struck with an idea. "Malfoy, you've heard of movies, you told me so. Have you ever seen one?"

He shook his head, watching as her eyes twinkled. She seemed to bounce in her chair as she spoke and he could feel her excitement growing as if it were palpable.

"Okay. Well, if you're really, really nice, I'll try and get us a television. And some film. That will help you pass the days."

Draco thought about it, and then brightened. "We can watch that one movie!" he said, "About the book – we talked about it before."

She frowned. "Lord of the Rings?"

"That's the one."

"It's over ten hours long!"

"Hmm, let's see. I've got forty-eight waking hours ahead of me with nothing to do. So ten sounds good to me."

"So, you would be okay with me getting a television then?"

He frowned and shifted in his seat, sending pain shooting through him. "Ow," he said through clenched teeth. Hermione reached over to him but he pushed her hand away, causing the energy surge to pulse through his arm. "I'm fine. But, I don't have, uhm, electricity."

"Well," she said, eyes still sparkling, "In Muggle Studies, which I know you didn't take, they taught us how to work them with magic. For the Muggle-born witch or wizard who needs to see his show or watch football."

"Where are you going to get one?" he asked, realizing she'd have to leave his sphere of protection.

She frowned; she hadn't thought about that. Then she smiled grandly. "Dean Thomas!" she exclaimed. "He works in the Department of Muggle Relations with Arthur. I'll bet he's got one they've confiscated." And she would be able to speak with Seamus about Narcissa in the same trip.

He narrowed his eyes. "How are you going to get the actual films?"

"Malfoy, I will figure it out. I'll be fine."

Draco knew a fight was brewing, and that in the end she wouldn't be swayed. And while he enjoyed a good row with her, he was too tired and sore to really put his heart into it. So he gave in. "Fine. Go get the television, and the films. But be quick about it. I mean it, if an hour passes, I'm sending Potter after you, and you'll muck up all our plans."

_DING!_

"Potion's done!" said Hermione, bouncing out of her seat to tend the slowly congealing mess on the stove. She ladled some of the thick, orange potion into a glass and gave it to him. "Drink up!" He tossed the potion back, cringing at its awful taste. "I'll be back in a jiff," she said, heading to the door. "But oh, I need to see Seamus too, so give me a couple of hours, okay?"

He nodded, but she wasn't looking at him. "Be careful," he muttered after he heard her Disapparate.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! As always, I hope you enjoyed! And Z - next one!


	24. The Dangers of Television

**Disclaimer: **All of Harry Potter's world is owned by NOT ME. You know who. :)

**Note**: The song lyrics were written and sung by the incredible sister singing group, The Nields. Thanks to my wonderful beta, eilonwy, for everything you do! This is better b/c of you!

**ooo**

**Chapter 24 – The Dangers of Television**

Hermione arrived at the Ministry of Magic, checked in at the visitors' desk, and headed for Dean's office.

"Hermione!" he said, pleasantly surprised to see her.

"Hello, Dean!" she said, hugging him. "How are you?"

"Just great, and you?"

"I'm well. Any news of Harry?"

Dean shook his head grimly. "No, but we'll find him, don't you worry."

"I hope so. Say, Dean, I'm here on a bit of a mission."

He grinned. "Oh?"

"I need a television."

He looked at her, surprised. "A television?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "Got any around here?"

"Let me see." Dean went through a stack of parchment on his desk and pulled out a few pieces of parchment. He scanned each page. "Uh, we've got one that plays bad James Bond films."

Hermione grimaced. "No thanks."

Dean finished the list. "Nope, no telly."

Hermione's shoulder slumped.

"You could always, you know, buy one," said Dean.

Hermione's frown became a smile. "You're right, Dean! But I know nothing about buying a television. Would you help me?"

"Uh, sure?"

"Excellent. When can you do it?"

Dean checked the clock on his desk. "How's now?"

"Perfect! Only, I need to talk to Seamus really quick. What about if I meet you in the lobby in half an hour?"

"Sure, Hermione."

"Thank you, Dean!"

She walked to the lift and took it to the floor where Auror Headquarters was located. Seamus was at his desk, and he looked ready to pull his hair out. He looked up as Hermione approached.

"Hey, Seamus."

He sighed heavily. "Hey. Let me guess. You saw the article."

"Yeah, what's going on? What are these mysterious charges? And what evidence do they have? Did Andromeda have anything to do with it?"

Seamus chuckled. "Hermione, I wish that I could tell you."

"Could I – see her?"

"Narcissa? No, she's very top priority. Only the higher-ups get access to her."

Hermione frowned. "So, there's nothing you can tell me?"

Seamus shook his head. "Only that I don't actually think we've got anything concrete on the woman. And that's only a guess based on how evasive everyone is."

"Would it be too much to ask that you owl me if you learn anything?"

"Well, sure. But why are you so interested in Narcissa Malfoy?"

"Let's just say it's personal."

Seamus nodded, not convinced. "Well, yeah. I'll owl you."

"Thanks, I really appreciate it."

**ooo**

Two hours later, Hermione returned to the Edge, Malfoy's moneybags just a bit lighter. She levitated the television into the house and into the sitting room.

Harry and Draco were in the kitchen, Harry eating calmly and Draco pacing. He winced every few minutes whenever he made a sudden movement.

He heard the front door and went to scold Hermione for being gone so long. However, a large box floated past his face and headed to the sitting room. Hermione was close behind the box, arms laden with bags. Draco's jaw dropped.

"Granger! What did you do?"

Hermione set the bags down on the sofa and gently set the television box on the floor.

"I got a television, like I said," she replied.

He looked at her. "Granted, I'm no expert in Muggle things, but it looks to me like you _bought _a television. And what's in all those bags?" he asked, pointing.

"Films. And a DVD player. And yes, I bought it all." She saw that he was about to launch into a lecture, so she headed him off. "Dean went with me, so just relax, okay?"

Draco gritted his teeth, and though he guessed the answer, he asked the question anyway. "And, if I may ask, how did you pay for everything, since you have no job?"

She actually grinned a bit reluctantly. "Uh, thanks? I grabbed your moneybag on my way out."

He rolled his eyes, no longer the least bit angry. But he wouldn't let her know it. "My money. Of course. Why not? Spend it all! Please! I don't really want it after all."

"Malfoy, relax. I got all this stuff _for you,_ to ward off your inevitable boredom. Well, most of it. I got one or two films for me. Okay, three, but I'll return them if you want. Well, two of them. I'm keeping one for sure."

He shook his head. "Keep them." He left the room the room then, a crooked smile betraying his amusement.

"Harry!" Hermione called. He came into the room. "Will you help me connect all this stuff?"

It took nearly an hour to get everything hooked up, since Harry wasn't really any good at Muggle equipment either. Hermione transfigured the box the television came in into something the telly could sit on. Then, Hermione read the instruction manuals to Harry, who tried to figure out what to plug in where. They were both frustrated but laughing by the time all the wires were accounted for.

Hermione flicked her wrist, muttered a few spells, and soon the television and DVD player were working as they should. When it was all done, it was late, and Draco was long asleep. Hermione sighed, flipping through channels, not really interested. After a bit she turned it off and went onto the porch to read. Harry joined her.

"So, Hermione. Those feelings you discussed with me. How's that going?"

"What feelings?" she said, frowning. "Oh, Malfoy." She sighed and put her book down. "Fine. I mean, there's nothing new. He's still obnoxious and unbearable sometimes. But seeing him so beaten up was really hard. I guess it made me see that I feel something for him, but _what_ exactly, I'm not sure."

"Yeah, it was bad, wasn't it?"

"Horrible. And Lucius did it. His own _father_. I don't understand how a person could hurt his own child like that."

"Mmm," said Harry, looking thoughtful. "We sometimes see Death Eaters when we're away, and usually when they see Draco, they're just a little cold to him. But whenever we see Lucius… he goes berserk. I'm beginning to wonder if we're erasing his memory effectively. He seems… irrational lately, and I guess when he saw Draco this time, he just snapped."

"You mean, more irrational than usual?" Hermione said with a cynical smile.

"Well, yes," agreed Harry. "But – it's different. I think he's slightly crazy now. The way Bellatrix has always been slightly crazy."

"Must run in the family," Hermione kidded.

"Draco's not crazy though. He is very much in control of himself and knows what he's doing."

"True," she admitted. Then she sighed. "I guess Draco really is for real, huh?"

Harry smiled. "Yes, he is. You sound surprised."

"I'm not, really, but all I ever saw was you two training. Then you'd leave for days at a time, and none of that showed me what was really happening. It was nebulous, intangible. I didn't need proof; at least, I told myself that, but it still wasn't real. I couldn't see it. Yesterday, I saw it. In black and blue."

"I understand. I've been with him so much more than you; I've trusted him with my life, and he's trusted me with his. I guess it helped speed up that trust thing. You never had to do any of that, so it's taken you longer."

She nodded. "I'm tired, Harry. I'm going to bed."

"Not sleeping out here?"

"No, Draco needs his rest."

She left. Harry knew that she didn't want Draco getting up in the middle of the night to check on her. It made him smile.

**ooo**

The next day, Draco watched all eleven hours of "Lord of the Rings." He didn't move from the sofa, except under most dire need – such as dealing with the result of drinking lots of pumpkin juice and those nasty potions all day, non-stop.

"Granger!!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry just smiled. It was ten in the morning and Draco had already summoned her four times.

"Yes, you pathetic invalid?" she said from the doorway of the room, trying to sound cross.

"It's finished," he said, pointing at the screen.

She rolled her eyes and changed discs. "Anything else? Because I know as soon as I leave the room you'll want something else."

He shook his head, staring at the film which had just resumed. Hermione chuckled and rejoined Harry. An hour and a half later, he called for her again, when she was fixing lunch for all of them.

"Yes, your Royal Pain?" she huffed.

"It's done."

"Malfoy, maybe you could learn to change the discs yourself. There are a lot more to come, you know."

He grinned. "But why? It's ever so much more fun to watch you roll your eyes at me and come running in here to help me."

She put in the second disc. "Are you hungry?"

He frowned. "I think so. I hadn't noticed until I thought about it."

"Distraction can do that," she said. She returned after a few moments with his food and something to drink, plus his lunchtime dose of potion.

He made a face but downed it without a word.

"Thanks, Granger," he said, not taking his eyes off the television.

Draco called her again after thirty minutes. He needed to go to the loo, and wanted her to stop the film from running. She paused it and waited for him to return, then unpaused it.

He called her to bring him snacks, drinks, change discs, explain things, pause for loo breaks, and even once or twice just to annoy her.

At eight, when the film finally ended, he called her again.

"Malfoy! Merlin, what now?" she said, sounding thoroughly aggravated.

"It's done."

"Thank Merlin!" She sat down in a huff and looked at him. He basically looked like he'd sat in a dark room for eleven hours, staring at a bright flashing box. She mainly saw it in his eyes; they looked tired and watery. "How did you like it?"

"It was amazing. I've never seen anything like it." He looked at her intently. "I don't want to admit this, I really don't. But the Muggles actually did something cool."

Hermione looked at him oddly. "Astonishing, isn't it?" she said sarcastically.

Draco stood up slowly, rubbing his eyes. He felt stiff.

"Malfoy, you have acted like a five-year-old today. Are you always so annoying when you're under the weather?"

He grinned at her. "Are you kidding? My mother would _never_ have let me get away with all this. She'd have given me one hard stare and told me to take care of myself."

"Well, I'm glad I have nothing in common with your mother."

"You do, just a little."

Hermione scrunched up her nose. "Like what? Although I'm sure I don't really want to know."

He couldn't tell her that both she and his mother were fiercely beautiful – that would freak her out. But what could he say?

"When you're angry with me, you have the same scary look in your eye. Of course, you don't, uh, punish me the way she did." Hopefully that would do.

"I don't think I want to know the extent of the torture – I mean punishment – you received from the people who raised you."

"Aw, Granger, I didn't know you cared."

She looked at him with an expression Draco couldn't read. So much seemed to pass through her eyes. "I don't," she finally said with a huff, standing to turn off the telly and DVD player. "No more television for you today. Go – play Exploding Snap with Harry or something. Shoo!"

Draco stood up to his full height so as to be more intimidating and said in a fierce tone, "I am _not, _despite how I _acted _today, five, Granger." She flinched, but saw laughter in his eyes. She poked him hard on the arm.

Draco winced but left the room grinning.

**ooo**

The next day, Draco felt better. He came downstairs in sleep pants and T-shirt, smiling to himself. Hermione was at the table, writing something, deep in concentration.

"Morning, Granger."

She made some kind of grunting sound to acknowledge him and pointed to a vial on the counter. He groaned, but swallowed its contents.

"Blech. So, I'm off then. _Accio_ broom!"

Hermione's head snapped up as he walked to the door. She whipped out her wand and locked the door. "Freeze, Malfoy. Just _what _do you think you're doing?"

He grinned and returned to the table to sit down. "Trying to get your attention."

"What do you want?"

"What other films did you get me?"

"They're in the bags by the sofa."

Draco went into the sitting room and found the bags. He flipped through the titles: Superman, Batman, Terminator, Predator. He liked the sound of these very much. Then he saw what must have been her films. Among them, was _Sleepless in Seattle_. His breath caught as he looked at it; he _had _to see it.

"Oh, that's mine," said Hermione. She walked to him and tried to take it from him. He pulled it away. "Hey – " she said.

"Morning," called Harry.

"Hi, Harry," said Hermione, distractedly. "Malfoy, give it back!"

Harry puffed up his chest and walked languidly over to them. "What seems to be the problem, little lady? Is he giving you any trouble?"

Hermione wanted to laugh at his ridiculous behavior. "Malfoy won't give me my DVD."

"Now, Malfoy, we don't want any trouble. Just give the DVD to the little lady and no one gets hurt."

"Uh, no. I want to watch it."

"What?" said Hermione, looking at him strangely.

Harry grabbed the case from Draco and scowled when he saw the title. "Trust me, mate, you don't want to watch this." He handed the film to Hermione, who then hit him with it. "Hey!"

"It's a good film, Harry," she said crossly.

"Whatever. It looks girlie."

"Newsflash, I'm a _girl_."

"Right," he said, "It's fine for you to watch it, but Malfoy won't like it."

"How do you know?" asked Draco.

"It's – girl rubbish," said Harry, not able to understand what Draco was being so difficult about the film.

Hermione hit Harry again. "It's not rubbish. It's romance."

Harry laughed. "Right. Rubbish."

She glared at him. "Just because you are not the slightest bit romantic doesn't mean romance is rubbish." Draco laughed.

"Ouch, Hermione. I can be – _romantic_." He spoke as though it took a great amount of effort to say the word.

"Yeah, right. Poor Ginny."

"I still want to watch it," said Draco.

"No," said both Harry and Hermione.

Draco scowled. "Why?"

"I got you boy films. Watch them."

Draco decided it wasn't the time to push the issue. He would watch it; he didn't need Hermione's permission. If he had to sneak down in the middle of the night _and _figure out how to turn the television on, he would watch it. But for now, he shrugged. "Okay, I'll watch the _boy _films."

"And I'm _not _waiting on you hand and foot today," snapped Hermione.

"Fine, fine. Whatever," mumbled Draco. "Show me how to use the thing." She glared at him. "Please?" Hermione rolled her eyes and instructed Draco about the use of the DVD player. Then she left the room.

Hermione kept her promise and entered the sitting room only to bring him the potion every four hours. She sat outside most of the day, talking to Harry or working on her clean-up task, which was very nearly finished.

"I cannot believe Malfoy has been sitting in front of the television for two straight days," said Harry, as they watched the sun set.

"I know. Who would have thought?" said Hermione, staring at the light and colors of the sunset playing off the water, deep in thought.

"The hater of all things Muggle."

She didn't respond.

"Hey, Hermione. You hungry? It's about dinner time," Harry said, once the sun was safely tucked behind the horizon.

"Oh, right." She stood and stretched. "I'll get it started."

"Oh, I have an errand to run tonight, after dinner," said Harry.

Hermione frowned, worried.

"Don't worry, it's nothing major, but I'll be back late."

"Okay," she said.

Half an hour later, dinner was ready, and Hermione called for Harry and Draco. Harry scarfed his down and left quickly.

After a few minutes passed, she said, "How are you feeling?"

"Much better. Dinner is good."

"Thank you," she said distractedly.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

She frowned. "Work. I'm so close to finishing my assignment." She rubbed her temples. "But I don't know, I'm not sure I can think anymore."

Draco eyed her with a small smile. "Well, I have an idea."

She looked at him, her hands still on her head. "What's that?"

"Watch a film with me." When she gaped openly at him, he said, "I'm_ bored_. I've been in that room, all day, all alone, wanting to rip my eyes out, but I just kept _watching._ You brought that evil box into my house; the least you can do is keep me company while I'm contemplating whether a fork or spoon would achieve more painful results when I finally do rip them out."

Hermione smiled. "You don't _have _to watch, you know." She stood and cleared their plates.

"Oh, but I _do._ It's an evil box, I tell you." She said nothing. "Come on, you need a break. You about said as much yourself."

She sighed. She really was tired of thinking, and the idea of zoning out in front of the telly was strongly appealing. She could pretend to watch one of the films she'd got for him. Maybe she'd even fall asleep; she always felt safe, somehow, falling asleep to the sound of the television.

"Okay. I'll watch something."

"Excellent," he said. "I'll get it ready."

Hermione finished the dishes slowly, and when she finished, she went into the sitting room and found Draco reading on the sofa. Hermione's gaze fell on the television.

"Malfoy, we are _not _watching that." She went to the bags of DVDs she'd brought and started to look through them.

Draco grabbed her wrist to stop her. "Why not?" he asked. "I want to."

"Well, I don't," she said, pulling her arm free before she fainted from the contact. It had been like electric pulses running through her, exploding every time her heart beat.

"I thought you liked it," he said.

"I do, but – why do you want to see it? Harry's right, you'll probably hate it."

"I would like to be able to decide for myself." He couldn't tell her the _real _reason he wanted to see the film. So he gave her a lame excuse. "I want to see _all_ types of Muggle films. Even this one."

She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "I – I don't want to watch it – with you."

Draco couldn't help but be a little hurt. "Why?" he asked crossly.

She fidgeted a bit and then sat down in a chair. "Uhm, because, well, I – " she paused. " – I – always cry at that film." She shut her eyes tightly, so she wouldn't have to see him laughing at her.

Draco softened. "I promise I won't look," he said kindly.

Hermione let out a slow breath. She didn't want him to see her cry, but she really did want to watch the film. So she resolved not to cry, and that would solve the problem. "Okay, we can watch this film. But you better keep your promise."

"I will," he said, a little unsure of how he could keep it, since all he wanted to do _was _watch her. He'd figure it out; he pressed the play button on the remote control and settled in to watch the film.

"Okay, but Malfoy, I mean it. Eyes on the screen."

"I know, I get it. Relax, will you?"

And so for the next one hour and forty-five minutes, Draco watched Hermione watch _Sleepless in Seattle_. She was not able to keep her promise to herself not to cry, but instead cried in every place she usually did. Draco watched her from the corner of his eye during most of the film, but when he knew one of _those _scenes was approaching, he would fully give his attention to the film in order to see what exactly caused her to predictably cry every time she watched it.

As he watched her, he felt something inside him finally change. He'd made a lot of progress in the last two years, slowly gaining those emotions he'd always heard so much about. Little parts of his world started having purpose; he slowly felt things, one new emotion at a time. Hermione had been a huge part of it, completely without her knowledge. He had learned so much about her from watching over her that he knew she was at a disadvantage and had no clue. He could read her like a book, which he found to be ironic.

As each minute passed during that hour and forty-five minutes, Draco felt the final resistant cord in his heart snap. He finally felt and understood what it would be like to love Hermione. She'd been through so much, and had suffered greatly, much of it at his hand, yet she was still so tender and moved by the smallest things. Simple, honest stories of two people falling in love were still able to move her.

He thought about the first night she'd been at the Edge, when he'd gone out onto the porch with her. She'd appeared free of all the cares of the world, and he remembered it had moved him. In the same way, she'd let herself get lost in a film, be drawn along with the characters and touched by them.

Slowly he felt the remaining ice melt from his heart, the lump in his chest which had only ever served to push blood through his body finally beating with a new life.

Needless to say, as the film drew to an end, Draco found himself in quite a pickle.

He knew, finally, that he had fallen for Hermione. It angered him, because he'd tried so hard not to. Despite everything, despite his best intentions and all the things he wished he could be, he knew he would end up hurting her in the end. It was inevitable. He must have lost his mind, must be going insane, to even think about it. The answer was simple; he couldn't think about it.

Hermione sniffed rather loudly, bringing Draco out of his thoughts. He noticed that the credits were running, and that she was trying her best to wipe her eyes without him noticing. The barest hint of a smile crept onto his face; what mystified him the most about her was the fact that she cried her eyes out every time she watched _this_ film.

"Sorry, I don't understand."

Hermione looked up from her sniffling. Her eyes were red and watery, her cheeks and lips pink from crying. In this newfound insanity called love, he thought she was more beautiful than he'd ever seen her.

"What do you mean?" she sniffed.

"What was that ending? They just – walk off, staring at each other? That's rubbish."

"Were you watching the film _at all_?" Hermione asked, incredulously. "When he said, 'You touch her for the first time, and suddenly... you're home. It's almost like... Magic.' That's what happened at the end. They touched, and – magic."

"Magic?" he said with a look of disbelief. "I didn't see any magic."

Hermione refused to roll her eyes. "Well, not magic like 'point your wand and mutter a spell,' magic, no."

"Then what? What did that mean?"

"Malfoy, have you ever held a girl's hand?"

He froze. The conversation had abruptly taken a very wrong turn. "What kind of question is that?" he snapped.

She was surprised at his quick hostility, but simply said, "Just a question, keep your shirt on. In the film, when they held hands, they felt something. They knew they were meant to be."

"Meant to be what?"

This time, she did roll her eyes. "Together, dimwit."

"Oh." He thought for a second. His mind was churning and he even ignored her name-calling. "How did they know?"

"They could feel it when they held hands. It was magic."

"That is circular reasoning, Granger. You're not answering the question."

She let out a frustrated groan. "They just – knew. Sometimes all it takes is one simple touch to know you feel something quite strong for the other person."

As soon as she said it, she realized what she'd actually said. About touch. She tried to keep herself composed in front of him, but all she could think about was what happened every time _they _touched.

Draco had a similar thought, only he had a theory as to the cause for the jolts, so he didn't worry so much about that. What _did _worry him was what he'd felt the last time he touched her to wipe tears from her cheeks. He felt that somewhere different altogether. Around his midsection. Oh, and his heart had felt ready to burst out of his chest. It was an amazing feeling, but at the same time, he'd thought he might be sick.

"So, uhm, what exactly _is _that, Malfoy?" he heard Hermione say in a volume just above a whisper.

"What's what?" he asked.

"That – thing – that happens. When, you know, your skin comes into contact with mine."

"Magic," he said absently. Hermione didn't speak, so he looked at her. The expression on her face was something like a mixture of fear, horror, pain and delight, all together. "Of the 'point your wand and mutter' variety," he added quickly.

"I knew that," she snapped. She hadn't, in fact, known that, but she wasn't about to let _him _knowthat shehad, just for a second, thought he was about to confess something huge and awful to her. Because it would be awful, right? She glared at him because he'd made her think something she didn't want to think.

But he of course had no idea why she was suddenly quite hostile to him.

"So whenever you touch someone, that happens." She asked, though it wasn't really a question.

He took a deep breath before answering. "No. Just you."

Her head shot up to look at him. "What do you mean? Why just me?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I actually don't know. But my theory is that it is a side effect of a spell I cast two years ago."

"What spell?"

"The _Binding Spell_."

"What?" she cried. "That's impossible. You – you can't do that spell without both parties involved. There's no way you could have done that without my permission and cooperation, which you certainly would not have had two years ago, and probably would not even have today!"

"Actually, I could have, and I did."

She was speechless. What he was suggesting meant – well, it meant he was very powerful, very skilled, and very advanced. And, she remembered, he'd done the Fidelius Charm by himself too. She hadn't even known that was possible.

But she couldn't let herself get sidetracked. "There aren't any side effects to that charm," she said.

"Not under usual circumstances, no. But I think because I did it without your knowledge, a built-in fail-safe was activated. Should anyone ever do what I did, the fail-safe would alert the ignorant party if he or she were to ever come into contact with the spell-caster. It's odd, though; I'm not really sure why it happens. It doesn't make sense that physical contact is required, but that's the best explanation I've come up with."

Hermione was livid. "Why would you cast that spell on me?"

Draco knew she was angry, and that his answer would only make her angrier. "I can't tell you."

Hermione's reaction scared him. She said nothing for a moment, but Draco saw that her eyes were swarming with the colors of fury. He braced himself for the tired, but it didn't come. At least, not the way he expected.

"This is about your island, isn't it?" she asked, sounding almost tired. "You don't want to tell me for whatever reason, and you're going to say you'll tell me later."

"Actually, yes."

Very quietly, she said, "I am so _sick _of your bloody island! I mean, where are we now? Ten years and four cherries?"

"Actually, I'm not a huge cherry fan, so we can keep it at three."

She gave him a deadly smile. "You don't like cherries."

"No – "

"Then why in the world am I supposed to make a chocolate cake with cherries on top?" she yelled.

He sighed. "Okay, Granger. You know where this is going. It won't be ten years that I tell you, it'll be whenever I decide it will be, and you won't have time to make the stupid cake. So, I'm officially dropping it from the requirements."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, thanks awfully. And how _dare _you perform such a spell without my knowledge? What would _ever _possess you – and _how _could you do it, even if you could manage to do it without my consent? I was nowhere around you two years ago, unless you kidnapped me without my knowledge – " She turned white. "Did you?" she yelled and jumped out of her chair, looking positively wild.

"No! Down, Granger. No, of course not." He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. Which was the wrong thing to do.

She jerked out of his grasp.

"Hermione, I wouldn't do anything to hurt you." He really, honestly meant it, too. And it was the completely wrong thing to say.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that piece of rubbish lie, Draco Malfoy? You were a Death Eater until about five minutes ago, and I doubt that two years ago, when you performed that spell on me, your intentions were noble. You _killed _my _parents!_"Now she was screaming in his face. "You caused me more hurt than anyone has ever caused, so do _not _stand there and tell me you would never hurt me!" With that she pushed him out of her way and ran to her bedroom, slamming the door so hard he heard the windows rattle.

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He ended up taking six deep breaths before he trusted himself not to do anything stupid – like run up to her room and kiss her senseless – or tell her the absolute _whole _truth – or throw himself off the cliff without a wand – or walk up to the Dark Lord and spit at his feet. Or call him a Half-blood. That thought seemed to snap Draco out of his funk.

He shook his head and slowly climbed the stairs to his room. He paused at Hermione's door, but heard nothing. He flung himself on his bed and drove his knuckles into his eyes until he saw stars.

Tonight had been interesting. He'd gone insane – that's what he had to call it. Then the object of his insanity – read 'affection' – had screamed at him so loudly that he was sure he'd have this ringing in his ears for the rest of his life.

Could one go straight from sane to insane – from feeling nothing straight to love – with no in-between? Only, he knew it hadn't been nothing, that he'd been struggling for some time against his growing feelings for the girl. Still, it had felt like it had gone from nothing to love. And it had been while watching the film that he had watched her watch for almost two years. He was in love. With the most infuriating girl he'd ever known. He had no idea how it happened, but it had. To _him_. The snowman.

Once, he'd gone to America for the Dark Lord. He'd had a free night, so he'd gone to a bar somewhere in New England – what did that _mean _anyway? – and it was his lucky night. There was a small concert going on. Two pretty girls sang a song about him. He'd met them afterwards and asked for the words to it. Sure, he'd since lost them, probably that same night after he'd drunk himself into a stupor.

But he still remembered them.

"It's all right; it's okay. If I freeze I can't decay. You touch, and I freeze, there is ice, where my heart should be. I'm a snowman. Cold is all I understand. I'm a snowman. You can't hurt me, no one can."

And yet here he was, melting. He could decay; he could hurt, and not just physically.

He sighed, and got up to check on Hermione. There was a note on her door that said, "Bugger off, Malfoy." He smiled and took the note down, then returned to his room and fell into bed.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Well, this was going to be posted last night, and I was excited to get it posted early, but my internet went haywire and I couldn't. So, bummer. But I hope you like it, kind of a fun chapter, and that you REVIEW:)


	25. Storm in a Shadowbox

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter...

**Note: **Title taken from a (big surprise) Dar Williams song called "I Love, I Love (Traveling II)". Thanks, as always, to the incredible Eilonwy for betaing this. **  
**

**ooo **

**Chapter 25 - Storm in a Shadowbox  
**

The next morning, Hermione avoided Draco, who spent the whole day with Harry planning their next few moves. Hermione's only interaction with either of them was when she'd bring Draco his potion. She would smile grandly at Harry, making small talk, and glare at Draco. She prepared them food and left it out for them to eat, choosing to eat alone

She'd intended to really think about everything that was going on with her – specifically the annoying, pestering feelings for Malfoy, but most of the day she spent staring into space, allowing her mind to go where it wished.

It ended up going to her parents most of the time. The two-year anniversary of their death was the next day. She doubted Harry remembered; he was so preoccupied, now and then, that it wouldn't have made an impression. And she knew for certain Draco wouldn't remember.

She wasn't even angry at him anymore, just terribly sad. Those things she'd yelled at him had been the weight of the approaching anniversary of their deaths, not any harbored resentment toward him. She thought he knew that, but couldn't be sure; she hoped so, because she wasn't sure if she could apologize, not with what was going on in her mind. It was too heavy. She would end up crying, and crying twice in two days in front of him was not acceptable.

After dinner, Hermione found Harry and Draco still poring over papers in the dining room.

"Malfoy," she said.

He looked up at her.

"I need to check to make sure your wound is healed."

"Okay… what do you need me to do?"

"I need you to lie down and let me see your stomach."

Draco didn't like that idea much. "Where?"

"I don't really care."

"The sofa in the sitting room."

"Okay." Neither of them moved.

"Now?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm going to bed."

"So early, Hermione?" asked Harry.

"I'm tired," she said, and left the room. Draco reluctantly followed Hermione into the sitting room. She folded her arms across her chest and watched as he lay down.

Her impatient manner was getting on Draco's nerves, and making him nervous. Which was really quite silly. He looked at Hermione, waiting for her to cross the room and examine him. He saw her frown, and realized that she was just as nervous as he was, if not more. She wasn't impatient, she was nervous about what she had to do. The last time she'd looked at his injuries, he'd been unconscious.

Knowing that gave him all he needed to get past his _own _nervousness.

"Uhm, stomach," she said, still from the doorway.

"Oh, right," he said. He sat up and took his shirt off. He heard her take a sharp breath and he smirked.

The last time Hermione had seen so much of Draco, he'd been covered with nasty looking bruises. She half-expected them to still be there, even though she'd completely healed him. When his skin appeared perfectly flawless, save the slashed scar from sixth year, she felt immense relief.

"Today, Granger," he said, impatiently.

"Oh, hush," she snapped. She crossed the room and stood by the sofa. She gulped and heard him chuckle. That made her angry, and part of her, a large part, was tempted to poke him with her wand, and hard; he'd never know it wasn't what she was supposed to do.

Instead, she passed her wand over where his spleen was located and muttered a spell. There was a blue flash.

"Congratulations, it's a boy," she said, then left the room, leaving Draco to stare after her, highly puzzled. "You're fine," she finally called, and Draco heard her climb the stairs to her room and shut the door.

**ooo**

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she knew something was wrong. She felt awful, as though she were full of lead. Slowly she opened her eyes and glanced around her room. Nothing appeared out of place, or upset in any way. The heaviness sat on her heart and her mind, and she tried to lift her head, but found that for some reason, she couldn't move. She panicked, her eyes racing around the room, finally landing on her wand, just out of reach on her nightstand. Sitting next to her wand was a small, monthly calendar that had pictures of famous potions and how to make them. Her eyes were drawn to a box that had no special markings, no words, only a very blank, white space.

Two years ago today, Draco had killed her parents. The weight seemed to increased, and she curled into a ball, tears springing into her eyes. She cried off and on for a while, fading in and out of sleep until she finally returned to an uneasy, semi-deep sleep.

When she awoke, Hermione could see the sun poking through the cracks in her drapes, and judging by the angle the line of sunlight made with the wall, it was around lunchtime. Fresh, hot tears filled her eyes, but as she looked around the room, she noticed something new; a green card was standing propped up on her dresser. She frowned and forced herself to get out of bed to see what it was.

The card was a deep, emerald green with a silver "M" on the front. Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself and picked it up.

"I'm still sorry" was all it said. Once again, the tears started to fall and she leaned against the dresser for support. These were different tears from the first ones. They were tears of release instead of filled with grief. As she cried, she felt slightly better. A quiet knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.

"Granger," came a soft voice; it was Malfoy.

She wiped her eyes with a tissue and crossed to the door and cracked it. Draco was standing there alone, dressed in his traveling cloak.

"We're leaving," he said.

Hermione's heart fell, and she let the tears fall unashamed, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Draco opened the door the rest of the way and pulled her into his arms; he held her tightly as if he would never let her go, as if he could push all the hurt away. She could feel his heart beating and its constant rhythm soothed her, as did the steady rise and fall of his chest. Gradually her sobs slowed, then stopped. She pulled away from him, wiping her eyes.

"Do you want us to stay?" he asked quietly. She shook her head, and he tilted her chin so their gaze met. "Hermione, will you be okay today? Tell me the truth. I hate that we're leaving you alone today."

She looked into his eyes and saw deep concern and worry. "Yes," she said weakly. "Thank you."

Draco wrapped her in his arms again, then released her and leaned down and kissed her forehead. "See you soon." He turned and left her standing there before he lost the ability and the resolve to leave.

Hermione was left leaning against the doorframe; the touch of his lips still had her reeling. For the rest of the day, Hermione thought about her parents, but she didn't cry again. Whenever she was about to, she thought of Draco holding her, or his card, or the kindness in his voice, and she smiled. He actually _had _remembered. She found that she was actually _sad_ that he wasn't able to be there that day. The relatively small effort he'd made for her sent her mind whirling with hope, and she found she very much wanted to be around him more.

She didn't cry again that day.

**ooo**

Hermione received an owl from Seamus telling her he'd managed to get her a visit with Narcissa three days after Harry and Draco had left. The morning of her appointment, Hermione rose early and mentally prepared herself.

She had no idea what to expect, and she was slightly afraid. Would Narcissa be able to tell that she'd been around Draco? Would she call her names and put her down? Would she even talk to her?

When she arrived at the Ministry, she went directly to meet Seamus on the lowest level of the building where they would walk the long, underground tunnels to Apparate to Azkaban.

"Thanks for coming," Seamus said with a grim smile. "We've had absolutely no luck with her, which is why Taylor agreed to let you try. You were the only one Andromeda would talk to; maybe Narcissa will be the same.

Hermione nodded, and they started walking. She couldn't help but wonder _why _Andromeda had been open with her and no one else. Was Draco right? Had she been able to sense that they were working together regularly, and therefore trusted Hermione? Again, her fears and questions about meeting Draco's mother flooded her mind, and Seamus had to call her name three times before she heard him.

"We're here," he said, indicating the small control room where they would be manually Apparated to Azkaban.

Hermione was led to the same room where she'd met with Draco in August. Narcissa was already there, sitting with her back board-straight, staring straight ahead. Her hair was perfectly straight, not a strand out of place, and the grey prison wear still managed to look good on her.

Hermione sat down across from her. Narcissa was staring at a point somewhere over Hermione's shoulder.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa made no reply and gave no indication that she'd heard her.

Hermione took a deep breath. "My name is Hermione Granger."

Narcissa slowly brought her gaze to meet Hermione's and when their eyes met, she cocked an eyebrow. "The Mudblood?"

Hermione clenched her jaw but refused to let the word get to her. "Yes," she said finally.

Narcissa blinked. "Well? Why are you here?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"And you're doing an excellent job. Please continue."

"I spoke with your sister when she was first brought in, and I had a few questions for you."

"Ah, I see. So you really wanted to converse with me, not _talk _to me." The older woman smirked. "Honestly, you should words that convey your intentions more precisely. It makes the communication process run ever so much more smoothly."

"You're right, of course," admitted Hermione grudgingly.

"I fail to see why my sister would talk to you, and not to anyone else."

"She said it was because of the way I said your name."

Narcissa studied her for a moment, then waved her hand. "Ask your questions."

"Andromeda was brought in under suspicion of participating in Dark Arts with you. She maintained that it was nothing of the sort. What is the truth?"

"Miss Granger. My sister has never, in any way, been involved with the Dark Arts. Such an idea is quite ridiculous."

"I am aware of that, which is why I'm very curious as to the true reason behind the sudden resumption of your relationship. I have reason to doubt the explanation Andromeda gave."

"What makes you think I would tell you the truth? I could just as easily lie the way she did."

"She told me it was because of your son."

Narcissa stiffened immediately at the mention of Draco, looking at Hermione with such intensity that she felt transparent. She felt as though Narcissa were trying to peer into her brain, but she felt no effects of magic. Then Narcissa relaxed, as though she'd figured something out.

"Pray, tell me what else my sister told you."

"She said you requested her presence because you were worried about your son. That you needed someone you could confide in about your fears. Lucius wouldn't hear it, and your other sister wouldn't care. So you called on her."

Narcissa took a deep breath. "What she told you is the truth."

Silently, Hermione cheered; she'd been right when she'd told Draco his mother truly cared about him. "Mrs. Malfoy. I have always been under the impression that you and your son are not close."

"No, we are not close. But I am still his mother. And I _observe _my son. I have been observing him since he was very small. I know much about him from the way he carries himself, the way he walks into a room, the way he greets Lucius and myself. Two years ago, something happened to change him."

Hermione sucked in her breath. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure, exactly. Draco was sent on a mission, and he did not complete it. But after that mission, he was changed. It started out small, but it has grown. The last time I saw him was in the middle of July and his eyes – his _eyes_ – were wholly unlike I'd ever seen them before, and their change started after that mission.

"Before it, there was no life behind them. In fact, up to that night, I feared for his life, that he would do something rash and end up paying with his life. The morning after the partially failed mission however, I saw the fog had lifted, just a little. But it was enough that I could see it.

"Over the past two years, I watched as his eyes became clearer and more focused, as he sat taller when he came to tea with me, as the confident stride returned to his step. I was thrilled to see that something had happened to restore him to life, but I was afraid of what it might mean."

"Why? What did you think it meant?"

Narcissa looked very carefully at Hermione before continuing. "I believe that Draco looked in the mirror and finally hated what he saw. And that he made a decision to change his circumstances."

It couldn't be coincidence that the two-year anniversary of her parents' death fell at the same time as Draco's sudden but subtle change. Her heart was pounding as she realized, once again but more forcefully this time, that there must be a link between the two things.

"Go on, please," Hermione said. "Explain to me why you were afraid."

"If he had, indeed, gone through a change of heart, so to speak, he would be in grave danger from the Dark Lord. I haven't heard from him since I last saw him, and Lucius tells me he's in India, or some such place, but I can't help but think he's been hurt. Or – or killed, even."

"Surely someone would have told you if he'd been killed."

Narcissa shook her head. "I've been under too much suspicion from Lucius and Bellatrix. They believe I have only cooperated with the Dark Lord because of Draco. They would keep his death from me so that I wouldn't rebel against my master and be killed."

Narcissa's eyes were shimmering with tears. "I am truly worried for him."

Hermione looked away for a moment. "I believe you," she said. "But what does that have to do with Andromeda?"

"Meda was the only one I could talk to. And she tried to catch wind of him through her own connections, but she had no luck at all."

"Andromeda was released the same day you were arrested. Don't you find that at all odd?"

Narcissa had already recovered from nearly crying and her face was hard once again. "Not really, no."

"Your sister was being held because they wanted her to disclose information about you or Lucius that would aid in their efforts against the Dark Side. Don't you worry that she _did _turn against you?"

Narcissa smirked. "No. Andromeda gave them exactly what I told her to give."

Hermione gasped. "I – I don't understand."

"Meda gave them just enough to get herself released and me imprisoned."

"But why would you want that?"

Narcissa looked nearly on the verge of tears again, and her hand trembled as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Lucius."

**ooo**

When Hermione was lying in bed that night, she couldn't help but think over what Narcissa had said. She could only come to one conclusion when she coupled it with what Harry had told her. She dreaded telling Draco, but she knew she had to. And soon. He still didn't even know she'd been arrested, and Hermione felt terrible about it. She would tell him soon, but the timing had to be right. He had to be in a good mood. Because what she had to tell him would quickly put him in a bad one.

**ooo**

They returned after lunch on the seventh day after they left. Hermione was finishing her lunch when she heard them come in.

They sounded like they were in high spirits, laughing as they closed the door.

"Hey, Hermione!" said Harry brightly. He gave her a big, friendly hug. "How have you been?"

"Just fine. Although a few days ago I hit a dead end in my task," she said, grinning. Draco was looking at her almost shyly. "I was so bored I seriously thought about using Draco's broom."

Harry's eyes widened in amused shock.

"Using it for what?" asked Draco.

"To fly," she said.

Draco looked from Hermione, to Harry, then back to Hermione. "So…"

"So, I hate flying. I knew it would be a rush – a scary one, I know – but it was starting to sound appealing."

"Well, I'm glad we've returned and can help relieve your boredom," Harry said.

"You took a break?" Draco asked.

"Yes," she said, "but I needed a break. I tried to find other things to do, but without being able to leave," she gave Draco a significant, playfully annoyed glance, "I didn't have a whole lot of options."

"Well, it should please you to know that we're nearly at the end of our work," said Harry.

She inhaled sharply. "You've figured out the Horcrux?" She looked at Draco, who didn't seem overly concerned. She couldn't tell him now, they'd just returned from a long mission, and he deserved time to relax. Soon though.

"Almost," said Harry. "We're getting closer to Voldemort's demise."

"And your inevitable battle, which could be terrible," she said.

"We've been working for six and a half months now to try and ensure that the outcome is, in fact, favorable," said Draco.

"I know that," she said, "But can you really be _prepared _for something like that?"

Draco shrugged. "You can certainly be _unprepared_, which Harry will not be."

"I thought _you_ were going to kill him, Malfoy."

"Nope. Swore off killing, remember?"

Hermione frowned, and looked at Harry. "But Bellatrix – "

"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry. "She'll get what she deserves. I'm okay with Draco's decision."

Hermione now became quite afraid. Harry was going to face Voldemort after all. That terrified her, but at the same time, she was relieved that it wouldn't be Draco. When that realization hit her, she felt awful. Harry was one of her dearest friends, and Draco was just – well, he was just- not. But he was_ something_ to her.

Harry sat down and took her hand. "Hermione," he started. She looked into his eyes. "We've known this since fifth year. I have come to terms with what is required of me – I have to try. I can't just – _not _try."

Hermione looked into her lap, fighting back tears. "I know, Harry, I do." She looked up at him, determination written on her face. "And you know I'll do anything in the world to help. Even – " she gulped. " – even let you go."

Harry's eyes moistened and he hugged her. "I love you, Hermione. Thank you."

"I love you too, Harry." They held each other tightly for a few minutes. When they pulled apart, Draco was gone.

Harry handed Hermione a tissue for her eyes. "Just so you know, Hermione. I feel, more than ever, like I have a shot at this. Thanks to Malfoy. He's – not the same person, you know. He's not that monster he once was."

"I know," she said, nodding.

"I actually trust him. Can you believe it?" He chuckled. "I, Harry Potter, trust Draco Malfoy. Sometimes it still baffles me."

"Harry, how far do you really trust him? I mean, how much?"

"I trust him with my life. I already have." He looked at her intently. "I trust him with you."

"Harry!"

"It's true." He stood up. "If something happens to me, I know you'll be taken care of, and that means a lot to me. But don't worry, I haven't said anything to him. I don't want his head to swell any bigger than it already is. He's more subdued now than he was, but he's still a little full of himself."

She smiled. "Yeah, sometimes it shows."

"Well, we've got some work to do."

"Okay. I'm going to visit Ginny tonight."

"Oh? Really?"

"Yeah. Just for the evening. You two are on your own for dinner."

"Why?" said Draco, re-entering the room.

"I'm going out."

"With whom?" he asked, stiffly.

She looked at him and quirked an eyebrow. "Ginny, and I'm just going to the Burrow."

Draco resisted the urge to protest. He really didn't want Hermione to leave, but couldn't come up with a good enough reason to keep her there. "Fine, you can go," he said.

She smiled at him. "I wasn't asking. Lunch," she said, pointing to the sandwich materials on the counter and went up to her room.

Hermione came back down after a few minutes wearing simple Muggle clothes – jeans and a t-shirt. Draco couldn't help but smile a little.

"Bye, guys! See you later tonight!"

"Bye, Hermione. I'm completely jealous that you're going to spend the evening with my wife!" said Harry, seeing her out the door.

"I know. I'll try and get her to talk about you a little." Hermione winked and left.

Harry returned to the kitchen where Draco was fixing a sandwich.

"Why won't she just stay put?" he grumbled, applying butter to his bread.

"Because she's Hermione. You wouldn't like her if she were any different. She's bored, and she lives currently with two males. And do you know what tomorrow is?"

Draco frowned. "No… Sunday?"

"The infamous, unbearable, red and pink holiday."

"What? Oh – ugh. Really? Tomorrow?"

"Afraid so."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"No matter what's going on in the world – this War, our work here, petrol shortages – all girls everywhere pay some sort of homage to this holiday, either with their significant others, or other single girls. Poor nutrition and bad romance movies reign, at least in the Muggle world. In the wizarding world, I imagine there's still a good bit of poor nutrition, but perhaps girls burn pictures of boys they wish they were with instead of only being friends."

Draco looked like he'd just been given a blast-ended skrewt for a pet.

"Oh, and Malfoy, I'm spending tomorrow with Ginny. It's a bit of a requirement."

"Okay."

Harry looked hard at Draco. "You know, it'll just be you and Hermione tomorrow."

Draco glared at him. "And you point is what, exactly?"

"Just – go easy on her. Try to give her a break."

"Me?? She is just as antagonistic as I am, if not more."

"Still. She'll be emotional, so don't bait her."

"Potter, I'll do you one better. I won't even _see _her tomorrow. I will stay away from her, and she won't even have to set eyes on me. How's that?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "That's a bit extreme, don't you think?"

"No, not if you want a guarantee that we won't get into a row."

"That's not exactly what I had in mind."

"Oh no? Then what?"

Harry looked at him, thoughtful. He decided against sharing his opinion with Draco. "Never mind."

"No, unacceptable. What?"

Harry sighed. "It might be nice for you to do something, well, nice for her."

Realization hit Draco. "Oh! You were hoping I'd buy her flowers? Or sweets? Confess my undying love?" he asked sarcastically.

"Something. Not quite as extreme as undying love, but _something,_" Harry muttered.

"Well, you can forget that. It's not going to happen. Haven't we discussed this already?"

"No, you refuse to discuss it."

"Because there's nothing to discuss!" Draco was starting to get angry. "I'm done with this. We have work to do."

**ooo**

That evening, as Draco lay in bed reading, waiting for Hermione to get home, he was nervous. He'd heard that on days like tomorrow, strange things could happen, things that wouldn't happen on any other day. So Draco determined he really would avoid Hermione. Just to be safe.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Well? How was that? A little something, right? Do tell me what you thought! Up next: Valentine's Day! And how funny that the posting will fall very close to February 14!


	26. That Red and Pink Holiday

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. No profit is being made from this.

**Note: **SORRY that this has taken so long to post, but I think the results are worth it. Happy (early) Valentine's Day! This chapter dedicated to my friends E&M, who live in Perth, Australia.

**ooo**

**Chapter 26 – That Red and Pink Holiday**

The next day, Draco avoided Hermione as much as possible. He woke early, before her, and went down to the ledge to practice. He spent all morning there, skipping breakfast, and only returned to the house when he couldn't move for hunger. He sat outside on the porch until he was certain Hermione was not in the kitchen, then went inside and fixed himself lunch. He ate on the porch, and returned to the ledge until late afternoon.

Again he waited until he was sure he wouldn't run into Hermione before heading up to his room to shower and relax before dinner. After two hours, his stomach started to rumble. He listened closely, and when he heard someone poking around in the kitchen, he decided it was safe to venture out to grab a plate of food and return to his room.

Draco crept silently down the stairs and went straight into the kitchen. He expected to see something warmed on the stove, a salad, even some bread, but there was nothing. He checked all the cupboards, but there was hardly any food at all, just a few cans of beans and a stick of butter. He groaned inwardly, knowing that now he would _have _to talk to Hermione.

He grudgingly entered the sitting room, where she was, dreading the encounter, though he really couldn't say why he dreaded it so much. When he saw Hermione, he had to restrain himself from laughing.

She was sitting in the middle of the sofa, still in her pajamas, with tissues strewn all around her. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, her eyes glistened with tears; in one hand she was holding a carton of ice cream and in the other a spoon that was frozen halfway to her mouth. Her eyes were glued to the television screen and fresh streaks ran down her face, falling into her lap.

"Granger," he said.

She jumped and looked at him, not even attempting to freshen herself or at least pretend she wasn't crying. "What?"

"What's for dinner?"

"Huh?"

"Dinner. Food. It's time to eat."

"Oh. Uhm, I'm not cooking. Just fix yourself whatever." She looked back at the telly.

"There's nothing to eat. I already looked."

Hermione paused the movie and gave him more of her attention. "Oh. Really?"

"Yes."

"Hmm… Well, I'm sorry. I guess I haven't been to the shops lately."

"What are you having for dinner?"

"Ice cream. There's plenty in the freezer."

"Ice cream. Ice cream is not dinner, Granger. It's for _after _dinner."

She shrugged. "I'm eating ice cream for dinner."

"But you need real food."

"Ice cream is real food," she protested.

"No, it's not."

"Well, that's what I'm eating. You can do whatever you wish. Really, there are probably three different flavors. I'm sure you'll find one you like."

"I refuse to eat ice cream for dinner!"

She frowned. "Then don't."

"What do you suggest I do, then?"

"Take-away?"

He rolled his eyes and groaned. "Granger, are you really not going to fix anything?" She nodded. "Why?"

"Because it's – it's the evil day today, and I want to sit here, like I've been doing all day, and eat ice cream and cry."

"That's ridiculous. Ice cream isn't food, and crying all day will do you no good."

"I don't care, it's what I do when this day comes around and I've no one to spend it with."

"I don't have anyone, and you don't see me rotting my teeth. Honestly, aren't your parents dentists?"

She glared at him. "They _were_, yes, thank you. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the middle of a really good part." She turned back to the telly and unpaused the movie. Draco was frozen, staring at her, eyes wide. She continued to ignore him, and he let out his breath in relief. She hadn't thought anything about his slip, so before she could notice him staring at her, he stormed from the room and up the stairs.

He went into her room and to the closet with the robes. He removed his favorite set, the robin's egg blue, and huffed back down the stairs. He went into the sitting room and threw the robe at Hermione, who caught it, quite stunned.

"I'm leaving in ten minutes. If you're coming, then put on something nice and for Merlin's sake, do something with your hair." Then he turned and went upstairs, smiling to himself at his comment about her hair. Because he really liked her hair; it was part of _her_.

Hermione spent half of one of her ten minutes in shock. She then spent another half a minute trying to decide if he was serious. Then an entire minute was spent deciding if she wanted to go. Three things ran through her mind. One, was this a date? It probably was not, since he hadn't really asked her to go. Two, could she get ready in ten – now eight – minutes? That answer was yes. Third, did she want to go anywhere with _him _on _this day_, the evil red and pink holiday?

That question took most of her sixty seconds to analyze. She was quite comfortable, and nearly at the end of her current film. She would have to change and make herself presentable, and if the robe he'd thrown at her were any indication, they would be going somewhere nice. She remembered the last time they'd gone to dinner – or rather, when she'd been forced to accompany him to a meeting and dinner happened to be convenient. Still there was a part of her that was drawn to him and it was growing stronger each day. Currently it was shouting to her to get _up _already and change. She had feelings for him, after all, and there was no harm in going to dinner with him.

She ran upstairs and threw off her pajamas, putting on a simple black dress. She panicked briefly over her hair, but had no choice but to put it up. With a sigh, she put her hair in a loose bun atop her head and fastened it with a set of sparkly clips in the shape of birds. That took six minutes; two left. She dabbed on a little lip-gloss, wiped her eyes, and took a quick peek in the mirror. She was actually stunning, but she simply decided that what she saw was good enough for ten minutes, nothing to write home about. Hermione went downstairs and resumed her spot on the sofa with thirty seconds to spare.

Draco came down at exactly ten minutes, wearing black pants, a grey shirt, and black robes. He obviously hadn't expected Hermione to join him, because he went straight for the door without looking for her.

She cleared her throat, and he looked at her. He nearly did a double take when he saw her, sitting on the sofa where he'd left her, looking at him expectantly.

"I thought I would join you," she said primly, rising. Draco's breath caught when he took in the full sight of her. He couldn't believe it was the same girl who'd occupied that seat eleven minutes prior. His heart started beating quite fast, and he couldn't even think of anything witty to say. He just nodded and waited for her to walk to him, drinking in the sight as she moved with poise and grace.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"I know a little place," he said, trying to sound as calm as he could, despite the fact that he was most certainly not calm. He was not prepared to see Hermione the way she looked tonight. He thought she was the most beautiful creature on the planet. Or at least in Wales, probably the planet. The insanity he felt the previous week returned full force and kicked him squarely in the gut.

"But you can't exactly just go wandering around, you know."

"I am well aware, thank you for your concern."

"I'm not concerned, just wanted you to think of it."

"And of course, I have." He reached into his robe and pulled out a small vial. "Cheers," he said and drank its contents. Slowly his hair turned black and his eyes blue, as they'd been in New Zealand. "And you'll probably want to assume your alter-ego as well."

Hermione nodded. "I – I'll just be a second," she said, running up the stairs and into her room. In the top right drawer of the dresser, two bottles of the potion she'd created remained. Gingerly she took one of the bottles and looked at it hard. Then she looked in the mirror.

She thought she'd seen, if only for an instant, something in Draco's eyes when he'd seen her in the sitting room. The thoughts she found herself having were a bit scary. For just an instant, he'd actually seemed to be...approving? More than that, he'd even seemed to be...almost awestruck. Practically speechless.

Hermione shook her head to stop her train of though. It she didn't hurry, she had no doubt he'd leave her. With a final smile at herself in the mirror, she drank the potion and watched as her looks changed, her hair returning to the bright blond and her eyes to deep green.

When she came downstairs, Draco was slightly disappointed not to see the Hermione he had come to adore. He knew it was Hermione, but someone it _wasn't_. His Hermione didn't have perfect hair and green eyes, and he liked her that way. With a sigh, he realized he would probably be able to concentrate and lose the ringing in his brain when she looked like this – other person.

"So really, where are we going?"

"Australia."

"What?"

Draco took her arm in his, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and smirked. "Hold on," he said, then whisked her away.

They arrived on a dark, seedy-looking street with dilapidated store fronts.

"Er, Malfoy? What's going on?"

"Relax, Granger. It's a wizard establishment." He walked to one of the doors, pulling her behind him. He opened the door and had to nearly push her through it.

Hermione stepped into a very elegant restaurant. Actually, elegant was not the right word; she didn't think there was a right word. It was breathtaking. Rich woods, priceless marble, sparkling crystal, china, silver, and silk were all around her. There were hundreds of lighted candles floating overhead, providing the only source of light. They flickered constantly, so the room was bathed in a flowing light that reminded her of the ocean she'd fallen in love with.

A string quartet sat in the corner, playing an enchanting tune, and as Hermione looked around she gasped. Gold, silver, and precious jewels sparkled on the necks, ears, and fingers of all the women in the room. The men were just as brilliant, though not as flashy. Hermione looked at Draco out of the corner of her eye and noticed something she hadn't seen when she'd examined him at the house – his natural elegance rendered him just as brilliant as all the other men in the room. She felt quite out of place and just a little miserable. She didn't fit in, and she knew it immediately. It wasn't just the lack of flash, but she felt that even the air in the room was too rarified for her to breathe and she knew that everyone there would probably agree with her.

"Malfoy," she hissed. "I don't want to stay here."

He frowned. "Why?"

"I – I just don't."

He was about to respond when the maitre de approached them.

"Ah, Mr. Greene, how lovely to see you this evening. It's been some time since we saw you last. Table for two?" said a man in tuxedo robes with a thick Australian accent.

Draco looked at the man and nodded, flashing a brilliant smile. "Yes, Murphy, that would be perfect."

"Right this way, please." He led Draco and a petrified Hermione to a secluded table overlooking the ocean. "Our best table, of course." He held the chair out for Hermione to sit, which she did, feeling rather unable to breathe. Murphy handed them menus and he handed Draco the wine list.

Draco didn't even open it. "Your best bottle, please," he said, returning the menu.

Murphy smiled warmly. "Of course, sir. Is there anything else I can get for the lady?" he said, turning to address Hermione.

"No, thank you," she said.

Murphy inclined his head with a brief smile and left.

Hermione just stared at the menu in front of her. The food looked incredible, each entrée described in mouth-watering detail with a recommended wine. And there were no prices. She knew that if you had to ask, it cost too much. She put the menu down and looked at Draco, who was studying her intently.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I feel – ridiculous."

"Why?"

"This – this place! It's so…so _posh_ and really too rich for my blood and I feel quite out of my league, to be honest," she hissed, trying not to be too loud, though her heart was drumming inside her chest.

He frowned. "It's a nice restaurant, Granger. Enjoy it."

She scowled. "I'm surprised they even let me in, without the required million-galleon decorations."

"What are you talking about? There are no requirements."

"Have you looked around?" She motioned to the table nearest them. "Look; that woman's ring probably cost more than all the money I could ever make in three lifetimes." She looked at the next table. "And her necklace is so bright, it's painful. I need sunglasses."

"You need what?" he asked, frowning.

"Never mind. My point is that I do not belong here."

"Why not?"

"Please, Malfoy, must we really have this conversation?"

"Hermione, you belong here just as much as every other person here. In fact, you're probably a lot nicer and much less boring than all of them put together. Don't let appearances fool you."

She crossed her arms and continued scowling at him, pushing away the pleasant sensation that bubbled in her stomach at his use of her name. "Easy for you to say."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." She paused. "Except this is obviously somewhere you frequent. You belong here; I don't."

"And why not? Because you're not covered in shiny things? You are more captivating without any of that than they could ever be with all the jewels in the world. Don't let yourself be intimidated by people who are no better than you even though they have money. They are all quite jealous of you right now, be sure of that. Old, rich women love to talk about other people; makes them feel important."

Hermione couldn't really hear past the roaring in her ears. He had just said she was captivating. And she knew, though she'd never heard a compliment escape his lips, though she hadn't been sure he was even capable of a nice thought about another person, that he meant it. She was speechless.

"Please, will you relax? Take a look at the menu and choose something."

She did as she was told, too stunned to question or argue. The waiter approached and brought the wine. He poured both of them a glass, and set the bottle on the table in a bucket of ice.

"Have you decided, sir?"

"Yes. I will have the duck." Draco handed the menu to the waiter and they both looked at Hermione.

"The filet of salmon, please," she said, handing her menu in as well.

The waiter nodded and left. Hermione took a few deep breaths to steady her heart. She felt better; Draco was right, money meant nothing. She knew that, she'd always known that, but when she'd realized how seemlessly _he _fit in, it had made her uncomfortable. It was so easy to forget, tucked away in their own little world, that he came from a totally different world. When she thought about it, she realized that he, himself made it easy to forget. He didn't flaunt what he had, act like a spoiled rich boy. In fact, it seemed he downplayed his wealth, choosing to live in a humble house on a cliff.

"They _know_ you here, as someone else."

He shrugged. "Yeah. I have to eat, don't I?"

She said nothing.

Just then a third, unexpected voice entered their ears.

"Sarah?" it said. At first it didn't register with Hermione that the voice was addressing her. "Sarah!" it repeated, much closer this time. Hermione looked at Draco, who had an eyebrow raised, looking at her.

In a second, the source of the voice was at their table; it was David Watts. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and stood.

"David, hello," she said, giving him a small hug.

"Wow, you look – stunning."

She blushed a little. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Oh, my parents live in Perth." He shuffled his feet a little and gave an embarrassed smile. "It may be silly, but every year on Valentine's Day I come down here to take them out to eat. I've been doing it for years now, and if I were to ever find someone I'd rather spend the evening with, I think they'd disown me," he said, looking at her with purpose. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, just, eating," she said, mentally kicking herself for sounding so stupid; of course she was eating.

"No, in Perth."

"Again, just here for dinner."

Draco cleared his throat. David and Hermione looked at him. Draco stood and extended his hand.

"Andrew Greene."

David accepted it. "David Watts, nice to meet you."

"Likewise. How do you know Sarah?"

David looked at Hermione again, a trace of jealousy plainly written on his features. "She spent a little time with me at the hospital in London. She's very bright."

Hermione smiled, reverting to the acting skills she'd used while at the hospital. "Come now, it was just such a fascinating environment. I couldn't help but be caught up in everything."

David looked a little pained. He smiled at Draco. "So this is why you turned me down, is it?" Draco's attention shot to Hermione, who looked quite unhappy about the direction of the conversation.

"What? Oh, no, Andrew and I are, uh…" --what?-- "friends?" she said, slightly unsure if it was true. Were they friends? Or just acquaintances with a common purpose who lived in the same house. She didn't think that response would please either of them.

Draco's face tightened while David's relaxed a bit, and he continued as if Draco had never interrupted. "Oh. Well, it's great to see you again. You really should come back to the hospital. If you ever need a job, I'll put in a good word for you."

She smiled. "Thank you, I'll remember that."

David took Hermione's hand and kissed it. "See to it that he treats you right, Sarah." She just nodded and David walked away.

Hermione sat down and took a large gulp from her wine glass. She could feel Draco's eyes boring into her, but she wouldn't look at him yet. She looked outside at the ocean instead. It looked much the same as the one she loved, but it wasn't quite as angry.

"Granger," he growled.

She finally looked at him. For a moment, there was something in his eyes-- something raw and angry-- and then it was gone. The wall had gone back up. But it had been…startling, almost frightening in its intensity. The shift in his mood had been so dramatic that she couldn't hold his gaze. "Yes?"

"Explain."

She shrugged. "He is the Healer I shadowed."

He rolled his eyes. "I figured that much out on my own, thanks. He seemed a little more interested in you than as a student."

She swallowed hard. "Yes. I got that impression."

"You turned him down?"

"He asked me out."

"So you didn't go."

"No, I did."

Draco felt like he'd been flying at a hundred miles per hour and then someone put a giant hook around his middle and jerked him backwards at the same rate. It was horribly unpleasant.

"And?"

"And, I told him I was too young for anything serious. I was supposed to be fresh out of Hogwarts."

"That's it?"

"Yes; what more do you want?"

He certainly didn't want to hear any details of their date. So he focused on the part that would get them arguing again and he'd feel on more familiar ground. This jealousy was more than he'd bargained for.

"You went _out _on a date."

She breathed heavily. "Yes, kind of. But don't freak out. We had dinner in the hospital; I told him I wasn't supposed to go anywhere but there."

"How sweet. Dinner for two across a hospital bed," he sneered, his voice holding more malice than he'd intended.

"It was nothing."

Just then the food arrived.

_Didn't look like nothing_, Draco thought to himself.

Neither of them spoke for nearly ten minutes. Hermione concentrated on thinking about what an enormous prat Malfoy was.

Draco's thoughts, however, took a much different route. He thought about the Healer, and how he'd looked at Hermione. Well, Sarah really. The man obviously had it bad for her. And he was _good_. For Merlin's sake, he took his parents out to eat! That spelled G-O-O-D in nearly everyone's book. Good. He dwelt on that a moment. Good.

Hermione deserved someone _good_. Someone who would shower her with roses and the like, always say nice things to her, and spend his life adoring and loving her unceasingly.

In other words, someone very much not him. Though he could imagine he would be able to love her unceasingly, a realization which quite thoroughly shocked him.

Another thought struck him then and he looked across the room to a table where he'd previously dined. Pieces of the memory, which was now as clear as crystal, replayed in his mind: Jane laughing at a joke he'd told, Steve pulling out his wallet and making an exaggerated show of paying the bill when they all knew Draco would be paying. He had brought them here a few times.

There was an uncomfortable shift in his mind as he realized what he'd thought. David had brought his parents here, and he had brought hers, the two people he thought more highly of than anyone else in the world. He'd done it because he truly cared about them and wanted to show them, as David had done for his parents. He'd equated David's act with inherent goodness, only to realize that as he'd done very nearly the identical thing, the same conclusion could be drawn about himself.

He frowned; he'd never thought of himself as _good_, not once. Even through all he was doing with Harry, all he'd done for Hermione, it wasn't out of any sense of goodness he felt in himself. It had started as self-preservation and though in large part it had remained that way, part of it had undoubtedly evolved into… something else. He genuinely cared about Hermione and wanted to see her through this War safely to a life free of the fear of Voldemort.

He…loved her, a realization that still frightened him. He had assumed he'd never experience what love really was, never having felt it himself. The Grangers' nurturing had started peeling away the layers of decay and Hermione – caring for her – had finished the job. But he'd also realized that he could likely spend his life loving her, something far different from adoring her. To love her, he would have to be part of her life.

The jealousy steam engine slowed to a crawl. This insanity would get him nowhere, and fast. He still couldn't imagine truly being with Hermione, even if he wanted it more than anything in the world. It wasn't right; someone like him shouldn't ever be with someone like her. As he accepted the idea once again, he felt a numbing calm creep over him like a weight on his heart.

There was no way that Draco Malfoy, disgustingly rich and arrogant Pureblood, every witch's dream, was good enough for Hermione Granger, know-it-all, Mudblood. He laughed bitterly to himself at the irony.

Finally he broke the silence. "You should go out with him."

Hermione set her fork down a little too loudly. "Malfoy, please tell me you're not going to start running my personal life too," she hissed.

"No, I was just thinking about it. He seems nice."

She stared at him, unbelieving.

"I did go out with him."

"I know. I meant again."

"Are you going to make me?" she asked bitingly. "Huh? Tell me it'll be good for your mission?"

Draco was sincerely confused. It had looked to him like Hermione had fancied the bloke a bit. He thought she'd jump at the chance to see him again.

"No, I just thought you would want to."

This guy had just done a complete turn around. "Well, you thought wrong."

"Really?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"Really. If I'd wanted to see him again, I would have. I certainly wasn't waiting for your permission."

"But why not? He's good-looking, nice, obviously wealthy – what's not to like?"

Hermione just stared at him. Only moments before, he'd appeared ready to yell at her in the middle of the restaurant over her seeing David – and now he was almost _encouraging_ her to start dating him. In all her time living with him, he'd only ever been ridiculously over-protective and bordering on jealous when she did things with other people. The way he'd looked just moments before, when he'd demanded she explain about David… he'd actually seemed jealous. But that was absurd...wasn't it? She searched his eyes and found only genuine curiosity now, but she couldn't shake the niggling feeling that there was something more going on.

"If you must know, there was no magic."

He blinked. Huh. "We're talking the non-wand and spells kind here, right?"

"Yes."

_Huh_. He hadn't expected anything remotely like that. Then his stomach clenched and the steam engine roared back to life. Magic. _Touch_.

"So he touched you, then?"

She frowned. "What?"

"That – magic stuff. You have to touch to feel it."

"Oh," she said, feeling a little squirmy. "Well, no." He was thoroughly confused now and she could tell. "There are other ways to feel the magic, Malfoy."

"I see. What are those other ways? "

"Senses, mostly. For example, sight. Just the sight of that certain someone can give you the shivers in the middle of July." And then a thought shoved its way into her mind about how she felt whenever she saw him right after he'd just awakened – sleepy Malfoy. It had only been once or twice she'd seen it, but the lazy grin he'd worn was burned into her memory. She shivered, just a little, hopefully unnoticeable to him.

"Or there's sound," she continued. "The sound of the person's voice, or the way he just says your name." Hermione. She could count on both hands the number of times he'd ever said her name, and every time she'd felt a rush, like a wave breaking apart against the cliff wall.

"And there's smell. Maybe he smells a certain way, and every time you smell it, you remember him and the way you felt last time you smelled him." She blushed as he looked at her inquisitively. Her thoughts went to the way she felt every time she woke up with his cloak wrapped around her. She had grown used to breathing his scent nearly every morning.

_Oh no, I'm afraid I've got it bad_, she thought with dread.

Draco just stared at her. "Oh." He looked at his half-eaten dinner and took a bite. "What about taste?"

"You can't taste a person, Malfoy," she said, trying to steady her voice.

"Sure you can. Kiss them."

"Kissing is touch."

He smirked. "Not if it's French."

Hermione blushed and took another gulp of wine. Draco couldn't help but notice the color that had filled Hermione's cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. A little bubble of male pride swelled in his chest as he realized he could have _that _kind of effect on her; he already knew she affected _him _that way.

"Whoa, slow down! I don't want to have to haul you back and hold your head while you retch because you got plastered."

She glared at him. "I can hold it."

"If you say so," he said, thankful for a breath of familiar territory. He knew it wouldn't last long and he'd again be plunged under the surface again. And despite his reluctance to hear her answer, he proceeded to ask what he wanted to know.

"So which sense failed you?" he asked, trying to sound indifferent.

"Well, I find sight highly unreliable. You can think someone is attractive, but then he opens his mouth and you find out he's an idiot and the attraction fades rather quickly."

"Really?" Draco asked, again honestly interested.

"Oh yes. It's one reason I tried to discourage Viktor from talking." She smiled to herself a little. "Sadly, it didn't work."

Viktor Krum. Yuck.

"And sound and smell are so fickle. I really only bank on touch."

"This brings us to my original question. He touched you then?"

"Yes. He did." She wasn't about to give him the details.

"Oh. And no magic."

"No magic. And you can't force it. You can't force magic to exist." She thought of Ron. "Just as much as you can't force it to go away." She said that last part to remind herself that there wasn't anything she could do about the way she felt about him. She would just have to ride it out and hopefully she'd still be in one piece once she landed on the other side.

The rest of the meal was uneventful. Hermione took her last bite of fish and sighed. "That was too delicious."

Draco smiled, a real smile. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Would you like dessert?"

Hermione laughed. "No, thank you. I've got ice cream waiting for me at home."

Draco blinked, just registering what she'd said: _home_. He didn't mention it of course, probably meant nothing.

"All right, I'll call the waiter," he said. Draco paid for the meal, and then they both stood and left the restaurant. Once outside, Hermione sighed again heavily.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes. That was – interesting. Can we go back now?"

"Of course."

They both Disapparated.

When they arrived back at the house, Draco opened the door and let her in first. When they were back in the sitting room, they returned their appearances to normal, and Draco was again rendered breathless by Hermione.

She gave him a little smile. "Thanks for dinner. It went better than last time."

He nodded, but couldn't say anything, still at a loss. He thought she'd never been so beautiful, and it wasn't the fancy robes, the pretty dress, or even her once again out of control hair. There was no one part of her that stood out, signaling that she was lovely; everything together shouted it loudly to every nerve, every cell in his body. It was…Hermione _herself_, everything that made her who she was, that he found so unutterably attractive. It was daunting to realize that he'd just completely fallen in love with her all over again.

She slowly turned away from him, once again considering his lack of response, and resumed her spot on the sofa amongst the piles of forgotten tissues. Draco cringed slightly as she sat on the robe, but then smiled a little thinking how nice it was that she wasn't concerned about keeping it perfect.

Draco went to his room and changed into faded jeans and an old Slytherin T-shirt. He poked around his room for half an hour, then couldn't resist his desire to be in the same room with Hermione.

She was still sitting and staring at the telly, ice cream in hand. If she hadn't been in the robin's egg blue robes, he wouldn't have known she'd ever moved that evening.

He walked into the room and moved the tissues away with his wand, looking at them disgustedly. Then he sat down on the edge of the sofa. Hermione felt a hundred tiny butterflies collide inside her at his nearness and she wondered when she'd begun being so aware of his presence.

"What's this one?" he asked.

"_Pride and Prejudice_." He sat watching her and the movie a few minutes, then settled into his seat to be more comfortable.

"Granger, pass the ice cream."

She turned to him, and her breath caught. He looked really handsome in the Muggle clothes with his hair slightly messy. She grinned and handed it to him. "There's only one spoon," she warned, then turned back to the telly.

Draco looked at the spoon, then shrugged and took a large bite. He saw Hermione smile slightly when he did.

Harry came home two hours later to find his housemates in the sitting room. The television was on very low, almost inaudible and the changing scenes provided a flickering, muted light. Empty ice cream cartons littered the floor. Hermione was lying asleep on the sofa, her feet at one end and her head next to Draco who was sitting on the opposite end.

Harry looked to the telly and frowned because he saw what he knew had to be a girl movie, yet Draco was glued to it.

"Hey," said Harry in a whisper, entering the room and sitting on a chair next to the sofa. It was then he noticed that Hermione had on one of her robes from Malfoy, a black dress, and that there were black shoes at the foot of the sofa.

"Hey," said Draco, looking at Harry.

"What's that?" asked Harry, indicating the movie.

"Uhm, what did she call it? _Price and Prejudice_, I think."

Harry scrunched his nose in distaste. "How can you watch that rubbish?"

"It's actually really good, Potter."

"Whatever." Harry studied Hermione. She looked so peaceful that it hurt him to think of what was ahead for her, for all of them, really. "She's beautiful."

Draco looked at her as well, and without thinking about what he was doing, said, "Yeah, she is."

Harry's eyes widened and he smirked. "Aha!"

Draco looked at Harry. "What?"

"You just agreed that she's beautiful!"

"So? I'm not blind, you know." Draco was irritated that he'd so carelessly let slip his thoughts.

"And what happened tonight?" Harry asked. He was grinning ridiculously and it only served to infuriate Draco further.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when I left this morning, she assured me that she would be in her pajamas all day. And she clearly is not in them now."

Draco thought about how he wanted to phrase his answer. "I refused to eat ice cream for dinner. She came with me."

"So you went out?"

"We went to get food."

"Where?"

"What does it matter where?" Harry's grinning was starting to make Draco see spots.

"Was it a date?"

"No!" said Draco, much more loudly than he intended. Hermione stirred, but didn't wake up. At least, that's what they thought.

"Shh!" scolded Harry. "Don't wake her up!"

"If you'd quit asking ridiculous questions, she wouldn't!"

"You're the one getting upset by them and being loud about it."

Draco glared at him. "It wasn't a date."

"Then what was it?"

"Dinner."

"Dinner on what day?"

"The day is inconsequential. She was going to have me eat ice cream."

"Looks like you might have eaten some anyway."

"Pudding."

"Ah. Of course. And 'Pride and Prejudice,' ultimate girl rubbish."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Potter, get over yourself."

"You said she's beautiful."

"No, you said it. I agreed. It's different."

"Not really. You still think she's beautiful."

"You are so going to get it tomorrow, Harry."

"What are you going to do?"

Draco grinned maniacally. "You'll see. Let's just say it will be unlike any training session we've ever had before."

"Ooh, I'm really scared."

"You should be."

"But I'm not, Malfoy. I mean, you're going soft! 'Pride and Prejudice'?"

"It's good, not that you'd know anything about that."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Give me a break, Malfoy. You haven't scared me in a long time."

"But I did scare you. Remember that. Channel that."

Harry stood up, still looking like an escaped mad person, and walked to the edge of the room. "Can't wait to see the scary Malfoy back tomorrow! It'll be like old times!"

Draco rolled his eyes and resumed the movie.

Hermione actually had been roused when Draco had yelled at Harry. She lay still, breathing regularly, listening to their argument. She heard him say he thought she was beautiful. Or agree to it. Whatever. Remembering his compliment from earlier in the evening, Hermione couldn't help but feel like she was floating. Harry soon left the room and Hermione watched a few more minutes of the movie with Draco before falling asleep again with a huge smile on her face.

**ooo**

**A/N: **They don't say "dessert" in England; it's pudding. :) OH! And Linwe-Amari wrote a SONG inspired by my story! I cannot tell you how giddy that made me! And the lyrics are awesome. Check it out at Deviant Art.


	27. Dark Matter

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter, not making money off this, don't sue. etc. etc. etc.

**Note: **Enjoy! And oh, I'm hoping you'll help me get to 1000 reviews! It's such a nice, round number, don't you think:)

**ooo****  
**

**Chapter 27 - Dark Matter  
**

Draco did give Harry quite a beating the next day. By the time the sun set, Harry was tired, sore and grumpy, but Draco would not relent. Eventually, Hermione fixed dinner and sent up sparks to let them know it was ready. As she set the table, they came into the kitchen arguing.

"But really, Malfoy, if I can't beat you, how am I going to have a chance against Voldemort?"

"Harry, you don't need to be able to beat me. You know what you need to know."

Harry sat down in a huff, scowling. He knew, he'd been told repeatedly, that it wouldn't be his skill that would win him the battle. It would be that extra something that Dumbledore had always talked about – the ancient magic. Still, when he was running in circles trying to avoid being hit by a spell, the thought wasn't comforting.

Draco helped Hermione finish setting the table and then they put the food out. During dinner, Hermione tried to make small talk with both of them, but to no avail. Harry only grunted and Draco responded with short answers, indicating he didn't want to talk. So she let it go and ate in silence.

When everyone was finished, she stood to clear the table.

"I'll do it," said Draco, standing.

"Harry, would you mind doing the dishes?" Hermione asked. "I need to talk to him."

Draco nearly dropped the plate he was cleaning.

"Sure," said Harry.

"Is that okay?" Hermione asked, addressing Draco.

"Uh, sure," he said hesitantly, relinquishing the sink.

Hermione went through the kitchen and out onto the porch. Draco looked at Harry questioningly, and Harry shrugged.

Draco waited a few minutes before joining Hermione on the porch. His head was spinning and his stomach a mess of nerves because he had no idea what she'd want to talk to him about that required Harry to be absent. He tried to think of what it could be, but nothing materialized.

Hermione was sitting in her favorite spot, looking out over the water. The moon was bright, and the waves could be seen. He sat stiffly in the chair next to hers.

She said nothing at first, so he cleared his throat. That got her attention, and she turned toward him in her seat.

"I'm not exactly sure how to say all of what I have to say, so please just let me talk."

He nodded slowly. "Okay."

"The day before you were injured your mother was arrested."

He whipped his head around to look at her, frowning severely. "What? Why?"

"I'm sure you remember that Andromeda was in Azkaban for her association with your mother." She paused, so Draco nodded. "Well, she was released the same day. The Prophet reported that she'd given the Ministry information on your mother to secure her release."

Draco was stunned. He was relieved, naturally, that she hadn't wanted to talk about _them_, for some reason, but this was hard too. He only nodded again and turned to look at the water.

He frowned. "That was over a week ago," he remembered. "Why are you only telling me this now?"

"You were hurt the same day I read the article in the paper. It completely slipped my mind. Then I wanted to wait for you to recover, and then… well, then you left again. I also wanted to have more to tell you than the mere fact of her arrest. I went to see her a few days ago."

Again, he looked at her, this time in amazement. "You… went to Azkaban to see my mother," he said very slowly, as a statement more than a question.

"Yes."

"And… why did they let you see her?"

"Because Andromeda had talked to me, so they thought I could get your mother to open up as well."

"Did she?"

"Yes, she did."

He shook his head, unbelieving. He didn't know what to think.

Hermione continued. "She told me a lot of things. One of those confirms what I believed after talking with Andromeda – that she cares about you. She truly called upon her sister over her worry about you."

Draco scoffed. "My mother can lie too, you know."

Hermione sighed. "I believe her," she said firmly.

"Why?"

"She told me that the two of you have never been close, but that two years ago, she noticed that something had changed in you."

Draco stiffened and his heart started beating faster. He had no desire to talk about that night, not now; he couldn't yet.

"She knew something was different, and she's watched you closely ever since. She said she was worried that your Master or other Death Eaters would find out and kill you. I think I know what happened." He looked at her, and she saw something new in his eyes. Not fear, exactly, though that was there too. "Something happened the night you went to kill my parents. Something that kept you from killing me, right?"

He nodded just once, his eyes racing all over her face, searching for a clue about what she thought she knew.

"Can you tell me?" she asked quietly.

Draco took three measured breaths, then said, "Not yet."

"Why not?"

He shook his head. "I can't. Not until this is over."

"But – it's important, and it _must _involve me, somehow. I have a right to know."

"That's true. However, I have the right to tell you when I think best."

She sighed heavily, forcing away the helpless frustration and the urge to say something spiteful. "Are you sure you won't tell me?"

He looked at her. "Yes. And I mean it."

After they regarded each other silently for a few moments, Hermione nodded. "Okay. But that's not all I need to tell you."

He frowned and cocked his head. "Oh?"

"No," she said, and he saw the now she was wringing her hands. "There's… a bit more. First, the entire thing was a plan developed by your mother."

"What – thing?" Draco asked.

"Narcissa knew that Andromeda would be the most likely to raise suspicion when she started visiting. She knew it would only be a matter of time until Andromeda would be taken to the Ministry for questioning. Then, after a certain amount of time had passed, Andromeda would give the Ministry something on your mother, something important, but not terrible. Narcissa _wanted _to be arrested."

"Why?" Draco asked. His mother and prison… not a great combination, he knew.

"That's the thing. Not only does your mother observe you, but she watches Lucius too. After all, he is her husband, and she knows him better than anyone else does. She told me that he has changed too, and not for the better. She said he's more violent, more verbally abusive towards her. She said she barely even recognizes him sometimes. His eyes are darker, and more… she used the word 'crazy.' And 'unbalanced.' "

"Well, he's not exactly all there, you know. Can't be to do what he does with no thought or concern."

Hermione shifted in her seat, and he realized what he'd said. In essence he'd separated himself from his father, saying they were different. When in truth, she probably still thought they were the same. She didn't say anything more though, and he suspected it was because she'd once promised not to speak about Lucius. But Draco found he desperately wanted to know what she was thinking. He just didn't know how to go about finding out what he really wanted to know – now, after all the time he'd spent with her, did she still think he was just like all the other Death Eaters?

"Was there anything else?" Draco asked quietly.

"Yes. Only, this is just my opinion. Speculation." He nodded. "I – I think Lucius might be the Horcrux. I mean, it all adds up. He's suddenly more violent than usual, and targets you especially. He's not too concerned with what Voldemort thinks, if he were to find out, about what he does to you. And then your mother – she's scared of her own husband! She'd rather be in prison than at home. She waited until Lucius was gone – off attacking you – for Andromeda to give the information. And she of all people would notice a change in him. The added violence would certainly make sense if he's been gifted with part of Voldemort's soul."

She'd been speaking quickly, not wanting to stop or even take a breath once she'd started. Now she was watching him, waiting for an outburst or whatever he might do.

He closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah. We had it down to him or someone else. But I thought it was him."

Hermione let her breath out, but she didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" he asked, sounding very tired and talking more to himself than to her. "I mean, it fits. I just – I can't help but wonder, why _him_? The Dark Lord told me repeatedly that he'd never give Lucius that kind of authority. Unless he doesn't care what happens to him, but it's a very important job."

"Draco?" Hermione said.

"Hmm?" he said distractedly, looking back at her.

"Is this – I mean – are you… okay?"

He blinked. "What?

"I just – it's your father. And… well, if he's the Horcrux, then…" she trailed off, reluctant to finish her sentence.

"He has to die," said Draco flatly.

"Well, right. But I mean, he's your father. Isn't that… hard?"

"Look what he raised me to be," said Draco with disgust. "Not exactly something to be proud of."

"But you made a choice to be different," she said quietly.

"A little too late, don't you think?" he asked, looking directly at her.

She took a deep breath. "Better late than never, they say. In the end, you've shown that you aren't like him at all."

It felt like a weight the size of a dragon had been lifted off his chest. He knew Harry trusted him, and believed in him. She'd once said she'd thought he'd changed, but he hadn't been thrilled at the time to hear it. He'd still felt he had to push her away. Now, though, he was grateful for her support. He'd grown to enjoy her presence in his life and not simply because he found her company enjoyable. She anchored him, provided a firm, steady foundation he could rely on, depend on.

It hit him that he wasn't sure he wanted to return to life without the grounding she provided. He was liable to just…float away, doomed to disappear. And she'd said his name… he felt nearly invincible.

He nodded slowly, certain that if he spoke too quickly she'd hear everything he felt in his voice.

"Do you… want to talk about it?" she asked.

"Do you honestly think I'd want to?" he asked, his voice a bit ragged.

"Well, no, but… if you do, you know…"

Draco looked out over the water again and felt a cool breeze run through his hair. It was like new; he almost felt like new. "I know. So – my mother. After all of this, you'll help get her out, right?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "And honestly, whatever Andromeda told them wasn't worth a life-sentence. I think it would be best for her to be in prison until it's all over."

He nodded. "Me too, at this point. She's safe there, and if my father truly is the Horcrux… she needs to be as far from him as she can possibly get."

"And since she'll be there for the end, there won't be any reason to suspect she's involved."

"Exactly." He turned to look at her and smiled, a true, genuine smile she didn't think she'd ever seen before. It did things to her insides that were both pleasant and not, all at the same time. She felt herself blushing and looked away from him before he could see it.

"Thank you," he said and he truly meant it. He'd _said _it.

"You're welcome," she said, feeling an odd sense of elation.

"You should know that this puts us very close."

"How close, exactly?" she asked slowly.

Draco thought for a moment. "I need to talk to Harry, but two weeks, I think. Maybe. Depends on how easy it is to confirm absolutely that Lucius is the Horcrux."

"So, two weeks. What happens then?"

"Then phase two is over, and we move to phase three. We'll come back after the two weeks to make final preparations. We'll need you to have your task finished as soon as possible."

She nodded. "I can finish it in these two weeks."

"Good."

"Final preparations for what?"

"We'll need provisions for a month, maybe more."

"A month? You'll be gone a whole month?"

"Yes. Maybe longer."

"Doing what?"

"Doesn't matter," said Draco firmly.

"What kinds of provisions?" she asked.

"Food, water, healing potions for minor things," Draco continued. "Anything that might be helpful."

"Okay, I'll do what I can to finish my work and get some potions brewing."

He nodded. "Good. Once we leave, we probably won't be able to return, so we'll give you instructions for what to do if… we're not successful."

She nodded, her heart leaden. "So, in a month and a half, I'll either be ecstatic or – " She couldn't bring herself to say the alternative. " – not."

Draco only nodded and stood up. "I need to go talk to Harry."

"Okay," she said heavily. "Draco… I mean it."

He looked at her intently, knowing she was again saying he could talk to her if he needed to. At the same time, what she was really saying, stuck in between her words, was that she was there for him if he needed her. He nodded, once again unable to say anything, and left.

**ooo**

Later that day, Harry and Draco went outside to train on the ledge. After a few hours, Hermione wandered out onto the porch to read, but instead she went to the edge of the cliff and looked down.

They were dueling, and it was incredible to watch. Spells were flying all over the place, bright, multi-colored flashes in the dusk sun. Both men looked like blurs, they were moving so fast. As she watched, she noticed that Draco seemed the quicker. He was in control of the fight, and appeared to be a few steps ahead of Harry.

For his part, Harry looked to be just barely avoiding getting hit. He was reacting, whereas Draco was deciding how the duel would progress. Suddenly, Harry tripped and was hit with a bright blue curse, sending him hurtling toward the side of the cliff. She gasped, but just before he hit the wall, he froze in mid-air.

Hermione's eyes widened and she looked at Draco, who was pointing his wand at Harry, his brow furrowed in concentration. His lips were moving almost imperceptibly. She looked back at Harry and watched as he was gently lowered to the ground. When his body touched the earth, Draco released the spell and Harry slumped over in a heap. A moment later, he gathered himself and stood, brushing his robes off.

"Again," she heard Malfoy say. Harry groaned, but faced him nonetheless. Hermione was amazed at how skilled Draco was. He seemed to anticipate Harry's moves, and have the perfect counter-charm.

She pulled back from the edge and went onto the porch. When did Malfoy get so… well… good? She didn't remember such skill from their six years at school together, but then she really hadn't know him at all and certainly hadn't paid him much attention. Sure, he'd made it through his O.W.L.s well enough to be in some of the N.E.W.T. classes she had. Had he really been that smart all the time and she hadn't known it? Hermione shook her head and turned her attention to her book, which she read until she fell asleep.

**ooo**

When she woke the next morning, she was snuggled under Draco's cloak yet again, and she knew they had gone. She inhaled deeply to capture his scent in order to remember it all day, and lay on the porch listening to the world wake up.

Hermione spent the next twelve days constantly busy. She quickly finished the clean-up task, then started gathering food and supplies for Harry and Draco, and preparing various healing potions. She also made some extra healing potions to keep on hand for more serious ailments, should they need to come to her for healing.

Then Harry and Draco returned after twelve days, not the intended fourteen.

"Hermione!"

Hermione's heart froze at the sound of panic in Harry's voice, and with the image of a beaten, bloodied Draco in her mind, she ran to the front door. Harry and Draco stood there, both of them very much alive, so she let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Oh, you scared me, Harry!"

"Help Malfoy!" urged Harry.

"What? – " Then she noticed that Draco looked a little green and glassy-eyed. "What happened?"

Harry removed his hand from Draco's arm, pulling off a black rag to reveal a deep, black, bubbling wound.

Hermione gasped. Draco swayed dangerously and Harry literally had to hold him up.

"Bring him into the kitchen," she said. Draco looked at her with fevered eyes and she knew that she would have to work fast. Harry led him to a chair propped against the wall.

"What happened, Harry?"

"I'm not sure, really. I didn't see it happen. He was fighting with two or three of them, I was dealing with one, and I heard a cry of pain, but when I turned around he was the only one left standing. There was a gash in his cloak and shirt, and I saw bright red blood. Then he kinda staggered forward and fell on his knees. I Stunned my opponent and went to his side. By then he'd turned a sick shade of green and the wound was pouring out black stuff."

"Looks like a dagger or other sharp object. What is with these Death Eaters and their pointy instruments? Whatever happened to well-aimed spells and the like?" Hermione was now rummaging through a cabinet to find a purple-colored potion. She put a drop or two into the wound and green smoke rose from it.

"A poisoned sharp object. I think it cut a major artery," she said, now rummaging again for another vial, this one containing a deep green liquid. Draco was beginning to foam at the mouth. Hermione forced his mouth open and poured the contents of the vial down his throat. "Come _on_," she muttered.

Draco's eyes closed and for a moment he seemed to have passed out. Then suddenly they flew open, clear and stormy as ever. She let out a relieved squeak and smiled shyly as she turned her attention to the wound itself. The green liquid had stopped the oozing, but the skin around it was still black.

"Harry, get me one of the vials labeled 'blood,' would you?" He went into the cupboard to get what she needed and held it out to her. She shook her head. "No, I'm going to repair the artery. When I tell you to, make him drink it."

"Okay."

Hermione bit her lip in concentration as she found the severed blood vessel and magically put the ends together. "Okay, go ahead."

Harry cautiously forced Malfoy to drink the potion. A long moment after he'd swallowed, his eyes flicked open and he coughed.

"That is vile, Granger."

"Nice to see you too, Malfoy," she said, closing the deep gash. It took her about twenty minutes because she had to repair each layer of skin separately, along with each tiny blood vessel and every muscle fiber.

When she was finished, Draco leaned his head against the wall and took slow, deep breaths. "Wow, poison does some strange things to your mind. I had visions of you and Harry prancing – yes, prancing – around a fire, warbling. I was tied to a big stick and was spinning over the fire. You told Harry to put more paprika on my nose, said I wasn't cooking right."

Hermione couldn't help but giggle. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, and I wasn't even worried about it. I remember thinking, yeah, my nose could use some more paprika."

"Well, we won't be roasting you over a campfire any time soon, right Harry?"

"Speak for yourself, I'm starving!"

"Harry!" scolded Hermione.

"Joke, Hermione, relax," he said, going into the cupboards to see what was available.

Hermione returned her attention to Draco. "You're going to have to take this potion for two days to keep the poison from taking effect. It was a special poison that can lie dormant in the blood for up to forty-eight hours. And you'll need to rest your arm a bit. Is there anything else wrong with you?"

Draco frowned and tried to remember what had happened; he really couldn't. Then he took an inventory of himself and found that his head was hurting a bit. "Uhm, my head? It's a little fuzzy, I think."

"Lean over, let me see," Hermione commanded. She hesitated, suddenly feeling quite shy, before putting her hands on Draco's head to feel his skull in order to make sure there were no bumps, scratches, or anything else amiss. Slowly she drew her fingers through his soft, fine hair, remembering all the times she'd wondered what it would feel like between her fingers.

It was the most amazing thing Draco had ever felt. No one but he had ever touched his hair, much less his head, and the way she ran her fingers through it, applying gentle pressure, made his brain even foggier. He felt himself relaxing and he yawned. Then suddenly there was a shooting pain in his head.

Hermione found something tiny lodged in the back of his head. "Oh, here's something," she said. She pushed his head down further to get a better look. Draco was now left staring at her feet. She was wearing a pair of old flip-flops and her nails were painted a subtle shade of pink. He frowned; he had never pictured Hermione as a pink girl. He was about to ask about it when he felt another stabbing pain.

"Got it," she said triumphantly, releasing his head. When he sat up to scowl at her, she held out a piece of crystal. "How's the fuzziness now?"

"Better. Thanks." He'd forgotten about the pink.

"Okay. So, rest for the next twenty-four hours, and then take it easy."

"But Hermione, we have to get back," protested Harry.

"Well, you'll have to wait." She turned to take over Harry's pitiful attempt at making dinner.

Draco gave Harry a significant look and he nodded.

Hermione managed to whip up a fantastic dinner which left the boys quite full and ready for an early bedtime. She fell asleep, quite content, on the porch swing.

The men were gone when she woke up and she mentally berated herself for not thinking that they might leave without her okay. Fear gripped her; Draco was not well enough for extensive traveling, magically or no, and was certainly in no condition to fight.

When she went into the kitchen, she noticed that Draco had taken a few vials of potion with him to fight the poison. The intense anxiety settled into an undercurrent of worry. She sighed. he was a smart man and knew what he was doing. She only hoped this wouldn't turn out to be a costly mistake.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Hey there! How are you all doing? I love all of your reviews, and I love hearing from you:)


	28. Where the Light Extends

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter:) Never will!

**Note:** Super thanks to my awesome beta, Eilonwy! I hope you like this chapter! And oh, nearly 100 reviews for chapter 27! I was flabbergasted:) Thank you all so much! Oh, chapter title from a song by... (dun dun dun) Dar Williams. **  
**

**ooo **

**Chapter 28 - Where the Light Extends  
**

They returned not two days later. Hermione was in the kitchen, preparing more potions for their month-long venture that was rapidly approaching. She had six pots boiling and was chopping ingredients in a frenzy. She heard the door open and voices, but she couldn't put down her knife to greet them; she had to finish her task.

"Hey, guys!" she called. "I'm in the kitchen! Arrowroot!"

"Hermione?" said someone very familiar in an incredulous voice.

She froze and slowly turned to the doorway of the kitchen and in doing so, failed to chop the arrowroot in the required sixty seconds. It burst into little blue flames and disappeared.

"Bugger!" she said. "_Ron_? What in the world are you doing here?" she asked, not sure whether to be happy or not.

"I could ask you the same thing!" he said, clearly flustered.

Just then Ginny walked into the kitchen. "Ginny!" exclaimed Hermione. "What is going on here?!"

"Hermione?" she said weakly. "Oh, this is really too much." Ginny collapsed into a chair.

Then Harry poked his head in and grinned sheepishly at Hermione. "Surprise?"

Hermione turned to Harry, butcher knife in one hand. "Harry Potter, you'd better tell me right now what's going on!" she demanded, shaking the knife at him without realizing it.

She sensed someone behind her, but before she could move, a hand had covered hers and gently pulled the knife away from her.

"That's better," came Draco's voice. "No one needs a knife right now, least of all you."

Hermione looked at him as he set the knife on the counter. She was so relieved, so happy to see him okay, that she nearly flung her arms around him right then. Instead, she simply said, "You're okay."

He looked back at her, frowning slightly. "Yes. Two ounces, every four hours, for two days, right?" Hermione only nodded. "My last dose is due in… three hours, I believe."

"Okay," Hermione said quietly.

Draco continued to stare at her, wondering what it was that had her eyes looking so bright. It hit him that she'd been worried about him. And _just _him. Not Harry, not both of them. _Him_. Never before had her concern been directed solely at him and there was…a strange feeling, in his chest, almost as though his lungs would burst if he took a breath. She really and truly was concerned about him. Slowly he smiled at her, their eyes still locked.

Harry cleared his throat, breaking the moment. Hermione looked toward the kitchen door to find Ron scowling furiously and Ginny shaking her head as if she had officially seen everything.

"Uhm, I think we should all go into the sitting room," said Harry. "We might as well be comfortable for this, and as far away from potentially deadly weapons as possible."

"Harry," said Ginny, tiredly. "What is going on? Tell me right now or else."

"Else what?" said Ron.

Ginny smirked at Ron. "Oh, he knows."

Harry tried smiling, but it came out looking as if he were in severe pain.

"All right, everyone, sitting room," said Draco patiently. "This is going to be a bumpy ride, so let's get started so we finish it and move on. I for one am hungry and exhausted."

No one moved at first. Finally Hermione crossed the kitchen and went into the sitting room and sat down heavily on the sofa.

Ginny followed, sitting on the sofa with Hermione. Next came Ron, scowling still, then Harry and finally Draco. Harry sat in a chair, and Ron on Hermione's other side; Draco remained standing.

"I'm not doing anything while _he's _here," said Ron.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not exactly thrilled with you being here either, you know. Sitting in _my _house with a pack of Gryffindors? Not my idea of a good time."

Ron gaped at Draco. "_Your _house?" he said incredulously. Then he looked at Harry. "What are we doing in _his _house?"

"It's a long story, Ron," Hermione said patiently. "I'm sure all of your questions will be addressed."

Ron scowled and crossed his arms, glaring at Draco but saying nothing.

"Maybe I should wait outside," said Draco.

"No," insisted Harry. "This involves both you and me. They need to accept it."

Ron's jaw dropped. "You and _Malfoy_? What, are you mad?"

"Ron, just shut up and listen, all right?" barked Hermione.

He glared at her but said nothing, looking to Harry.

Harry told Ron and Ginny the basic gist of what was going on. They'd been living in this house, working to bring down Voldemort, Hermione was helping them, and they were about to finish what they'd started and were going to be gone a long time.

"Where are you going?" asked Ginny, suddenly worried.

"A mission, Gin. A long one. An important one."

Ginny could only nod.

"What mission?" asked Ron. "Why do I seem to be the only one who seems surprised by this? And will someone _please_ tell me what that pasty-faced, good-for-nothing evil Death Eater is doing in the room, unharmed and unhexed?" Ron asked, obviously highly frustrated. When nobody said anything, he gaped at Harry. "Let me get this straight, then. You and Malfoy are on some mission together? Malfoy. The Malfoy. The ferret. The one we hate. That Malfoy?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Ron. Him."

"Hey," said Draco, looking at her a little hurt.

Hermione looked at him. "You know we don't hate you," she said.

"Why not?" Ron asked, sulking. Hermione gave him a hard look. He continued. "Anyway, so Hermione, you agreed to come help them?"

"Yes. Harry would have Obliviated my memory if I hadn't."

"To protect you, Hermione, not as a threat," Harry said quickly.

"I know. Still. Ron, I had the option of either returning to a job that I hated and piddling around looking for Death Eaters without Harry, or helping him actually DO something to get rid of that monster. There was really no choice."

Draco smiled to himself at her fierce defense.

"But – HIM! He's evil!"

"Ron… try to understand," Hermione relied. "He was the one with the plan, the ideas, the means to get the goal accomplished. And…" She looked at Draco. "Whatever he was in the past, he's not… that person anymore. If he ever was."

Hermione's comment silenced the room. Draco was staring openly at Hermione who held his gaze, for once his mask of indifference absent, a completely stunned expression on his face. Harry was beaming at her, and she pointedly refused to look at Ginny or Ron.

No one spoke for a few minutes, and in the thick silence, Hermione felt the weight of what she'd said finally sink in. Her heart jumped in her chest, and she looked away from Draco.

"Draco is with us now," said Harry firmly and quietly after a few moments. "We would be nowhere if not for him."

"But – " Ron started.

"Oh, shut up, Ron. Get over it." Ginny sighed wearily. "Hogwarts was forever ago. If Harry and Hermione say he's okay, then you should trust your two best friends. They've not gone loopy, and they're both quite healthy, so he's done them no harm. Get over it already."

Ron looked about to protest, but instead scowled deeply. "Ginny, you aren't nearly as surprised by all this as I am. Why?"

Ginny looked nervously at Harry, who only shrugged. "Ron, I've known since August that Harry was working on a secret project that required him disappearing. I knew nothing about the details, Malfoy, or Hermione's involvement, though, until tonight."

"Why would Harry tell YOU and not ME!"

"Ron, we have something to tell you," said Harry, moving to take Ginny's hand. Ron's eyes widened. "We're married. Have been for almost two years."

"WHAT!?" screamed Ron, jumping up from his seat. Draco was enjoying this scene of the play immensely. "What?" Ron repeated. "Why – how – I – " Then he seemed unable to support himself any longer and sank back onto the sofa.

"Sorry Ron, we didn't tell anyone, I mean no one. Malfoy found out – "

"What!?" Ginny exclaimed, looking at Draco.

" – and mentioned it in front of Hermione, so I had to tell her."

"How did he find out?" demanded Ginny.

"Oh, he won't tell you," assured Hermione. "Not for ten years. Or something. Are we on ten still?" she asked, looking at him.

He only nodded. Ron's eyes widened again. "That parchment you got for Christmas! It was from _him!_"

"Yes, Ron."

He puzzled, straining to remember. "What was with the bird seal?"

Draco finally spoke. "It was a reminder of something else we have yet to discuss."

Ron shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Ron, we want you and Ginny to be here with Hermione while we're gone. Otherwise, she'll be alone for at least a month, and she's really not supposed to leave, so Draco suggested letting you two in on the secret, since it's nearly over with, so she won't be alone."

Hermione glanced at Draco, who was pointedly looking at the floor. She was surprised at first, but then not at all. It had been _his _idea to bring Ron and Ginny in, and he'd done it for her.

"Why isn't she supposed to leave? Are we going to be prisoners here?" asked Ron.

"No, of course not. It's just, Hermione is a target, and …. " started Harry, knowing that finishing his sentence would enrage Ron even further.

"Lucius attacked her when she went to her flat in January," said Draco.

Ron couldn't even speak at first. His face was turning red and his knuckles white. "What did you say?" he whispered.

"Lucius attacked her when she went – " Draco started again.

"I _heard _you, Malfoy," Ron spat. "What do you mean?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Really, Weasley, what do you think?"

"Your dad hurt Hermione?"

Draco's own anger seemed to be just bubbling below the surface. "Yes. He did. But Harry and I were able to prevent further injury."

Ron glared at the man with white-hot hatred written all over his face. "You and your despicable family deserve to be tortured within an inch of your lives, then killed in the most painful way possible, and your bodies left out for the carrion birds to pick at your flesh while you rot."

"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione, astonished by this outburst which revealed such hatred.

Hermione could see Draco's anger swirling in his eyes. He looked at Ron so fiercely that eventually Ron flinched. Then Draco spoke very quietly. "Don't you think I know that, Weasley? Don't you think I know that every single miserable minute of my life? I would have killed my father for what he had done if not for her, thereby further proving that you are right."

No one spoke for a few minutes. Ron continued to glare at Draco, who returned the glare with equal animosity.

Finally, Hermione needed to get them to move past this. "Ron, I'm all right. Harry and Draco saved me, and no harm was done. Don't let it bother you."

"Don't let it bother me that Lucius Malfoy attacked you? How am I supposed to do that?"

"Let it go. It's in the past. He won't hurt me again."

"I will _never_ let it happen again," said Draco firmly, looking into Hermione's eyes. She gave him a weak smile.

"_You_ won't?!" said Ron, "You probably got her into it in the first place!"

Now Draco was very angry and he was unable to remain collected. "I would never, ever, **ever **allow Hermione to be hurt, and I have done everything in my power to prevent it. And I will continue to do everything in my power to prevent another occasion for her to be hurt. Everything!" He was shouting at the end of his outburst, giving Ron such a look as made even Hermione tremble in fear of him.

Hermione just stared at him. She'd never heard him talk so strongly about her before, ever. The others stared at him as well, Ron's glare slowly disappearing.

"Do not accuse me of being involved with Lucius in any way," said Draco, finally calm enough to speak without yelling. "Our association ended years ago."

"Draco," said Hermione, pleading silently with him to let this go. Hearing her voice, he looked at her and his features softened slightly.

He pulled himself together the rest of the way and resumed staring at the floor.

Still, no one spoke for a few minutes. Finally, Ginny broke the silence.

"Will it be dangerous?" asked Ginny, quietly.

"Yes, it will Ginny. But it's the risk I've been preparing to take. We're ready."

She seemed to pass from fear to anger to resolve in mere seconds. "Okay, Harry. I'll stay, of course I'll stay. Just – just be safe, all right?"

"You know I have every intention of coming back to you," he said sweetly. Hermione couldn't help but think that maybe Harry did have a small clue about romance after all.

"What happens now?" Ginny asked. Harry told her that they would be leaving for a month, maybe more, to first find and kill Lucius, the final Horcrux, and then find and finally battle the Dark Lord.

"But why will it take so long?"

"Because he's constantly on the move," said Draco, "It takes going through channels to find him, and though I deserted him long ago, he does not suspect it. That I've been able to detect, at least. I still have the ability to detect those channels. The length of time it will take is only an estimate. It will be a slow, arduous journey."

"But you'll be with Harry the entire time?" Ginny asked.

"Of course. I will make sure he arrives safely before the Dark Lord. And I will stand beside him while they fight, and do anything and everything I can to make sure Harry comes out the victor."

The finality with which he spoke alarmed Hermione. What did "anything and everything" mean? Would he even offer his own life to continue Harry's? She shuddered at the thought, and then became angry with herself for worrying about Draco more than Harry, if even for a second.

"So, why didn't you tell me before now, Harry? Hermione? Huh?" said Ron, suddenly angry. "We're supposed to be in this together, and you've gone and replaced me with Malfoy." He spat the last name with as much venom as he could muster.

"Ron," started Harry, "I knew this would upset you. But I could only choose one of you. Malfoy insisted. Hermione worked on something completely different from us. You wouldn't have wanted that task, you would've wanted to train with us, and we needed her task finished as well."

"Why did _Malfoy_ get to decide? Why did he make you choose between your best friends?"

"Because, Weasley, it's my plan. Without me, Potter had nothing. My rules were followed. At all times; no exceptions. If you want to blame someone, blame me, not Harry. He made the right choice."

"Draco," Hermione said. He looked at her and she smiled encouragingly. "I would ask you to remember that we did what you said because we chose to, not because you demanded it."

He blinked and understood what she meant – in the end, once all was said and done, she and Harry chose to work with him, chose to _trust _him. He knew Hermione had done so with no reason other than the fact that Harry trusted him. Now though, she'd grown to trust him on her own.

She turned to her friend. "Ron, Harry needed me to do something I was good at and would enjoy – research. That's what I did for months while I was here. Plus, I went to St. Mungo's and learned all about healing spells so I could, if necessary, heal Harry and Draco.. It's come quite in handy."

Ginny whipped her head around to look at Harry.

"Just me, Ginny," said Draco.

"Good," said Ron, angry still, "You probably got what you deserved."

"Ron!" cried Hermione. "Don't say that! You have no idea! You wouldn't have wanted the tasks I was given. And Harry could only risk one of his friends being exposed to the dangers of embarking on this mission."

"Danger? I've been with him every step of the way, Hermione, as have you. I cannot believe you were with him all this time, fighting Voldemort, without me."

"Ron, please," she said, pleading, nearly in tears for wanting him to understand. "I haven't been fighting with Harry. I've been sitting here, researching, reading, making potions, and the like. Not fighting with Harry. Not once!"

"But Malfoy has," he said darkly. "He chose Malfoy. Over me."

"Ron, that is stupid," said Ginny. "He didn't choose Malfoy over you. He never would. That is just absurd to suggest."

"Draco chose me, Ron, not the other way around. He came to me, offered me this chance. I jumped at it."

"Again, blame me, Weasley, if you must blame someone. Harry had no choice if he wanted the information and training I offered him. He would have had you here if he could, I have no doubt. And it's not as if he and Hermione were here every day sharing stories over tea. We barely saw her over these months. So stop feeling sorry for yourself that you were left out of this. Now you're in it. So be in it."

Hermione saw that Ron was about to protest, if only for the simple fact that Draco had spoken. She cut him off before he started. "Well said. Are you in or not?"

Ron looked at her with a shocked expression. "Of course I'm in! I'm not leaving now, you must be mad!"

Hermione threw her arms around Ron and gave him a long, tight hug. He reddened, but eventually returned the hug. Draco's jealousy train started rumbling and he had to remind himself that she'd already tried that, and it hadn't worked out. Still, she'd never hugged _him _like that. Nor would she ever, really, he thought. He sighed, and looked at Harry, exhausted.

Harry nodded. "Do you lot have any more questions?"

Ron and Hermione pulled out of their hug, Hermione with tears in her eyes. "No," he mumbled.

"No," said Ginny.

"No questions?" asked Hermione one more time. No one spoke. "Good. Then, I've got a potion to finish, and after that, dinner to cook."

"I can cook," offered Harry, cheerily.

"No!" exclaimed Hermione and Draco together. They looked at each other and had to quickly look away, so as not to laugh.

Harry scowled. "Fine."

"I'll cook," said Draco quietly, and without looking at him, Hermione nodded.

"That's settled. Ron, you can take my room. I prefer sleeping outside. Ginny, I guess you're with Harry."

"What?" yelled Ron, eyes bulging.

"They're married, remember?" said Hermione patiently.

Ron scowled. "Oh. Right. How could I forget? Are _you _married _too_, Hermione? That bloke from the book shop? Got any kids running around here? Anything _else _you want to tell me?"

Hermione reddened and she could feel Draco's gaze on her. "No, Ron. Stop being so thick. Take your stuff upstairs. I'm the first door on the left."

**ooo**

The meal was mostly quiet. After everyone had eaten, Harry cleared the table.

"Afters, anyone?" Hermione asked. "We've got ice cream."

Ron grinned at her then. "Butter pecan?"

"Naturally," she said, smiling back.

Harry, Ron and Ginny opted for ice cream, and Draco declined.

He excused himself from the table and went outside onto the back porch. He let out his breath in relief at finally being away from the others. The tension had been almost tangible, and he hated feeling so exposed and vulnerable. He also knew that Ron and Ginny were just waiting for a chance to be with Harry and Hermione without him around, most likely to talk about him.

He considered listening in, as he very much wanted to know what Harry and especially Hermione would say about him. But he'd found in the recent past that he couldn't listen in on their conversations anymore without feeling a sense of… guilt.

Draco smiled, thinking that Salazar Slytherin must be turning in his metaphorical grave at the very idea that one of his own would feel bad for eavesdropping. He sighed and sat in Hermione's spot and Summoned a book.

**ooo**

As soon as Draco had shut the door, Ginny cast an Imperturbable Charm on it.

"So, what's he like?" she asked seriously. "Is he completely unbearable?"

"No, not anymore. He's generally agreeable. Wouldn't you say, Harry?"

He nodded, his mouth full.

Ginny's eyes suddenly widened. "He's _him_, isn't he?"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked. "Him who?"

"_HIM! _The potion guy!"

Ron's eyes got big too, and mean. "I _knew_ I would want to punch that git."

"Yes, but Ginny, Ron, do you remember what I told you? That I'd been wrong about him?"

"He still yelled at you and made you cry," said Ron angrily.

"That's true," Hermione agreed. "He's… done it a few times."

"He killed your parents!" Ginny said, in a horrified whisper, as though she'd just remembered.

Hermione shut her eyes tight and took a few calming breaths. "I know. It's – okay. I've forgiven him."

Ron's jaw dropped. "You can't be serious."

"I am," she said stubbornly. "He's changed."

"Yeah, right," muttered Ron. "People like him don't change. They lie."

"Hey," said Harry sternly. "Draco isn't lying."

"But… still! You're so _sure! _After everything, Hermione. He called you names and said the worst things about you. And Harry, he hated you from the beginning and treated you just as horribly."

"Ron, it's like Ginny said. Hogwarts was ages ago. A lifetime, it seems. Days when the worst thing anyone did was a harsh word, or a Jelly-Legs curse. Now we live in a world where Death Eaters kill babies. It's a far cry from schoolyard taunting. Now… we've all grown up, we've all changed. Is it really so hard to think he could change too?"

Ron looked at her hard and saw a piece of his Hermione, the one who stood up so adamantly for house-elf rights and Snape's goodness, shining through her eyes – complete and utter conviction that lit a fire in her soul. He smiled. "I guess not, Hermione. I – I'm sorry."

She sniffed her acceptance. "It's to him you should say that, Ron."

"Fat chance," he said, now grinning.

"So tell us about your plan," said Ginny after a moment of silence. When Hermione gave her a grateful look, Ginny smiled.

Harry brought them up to date, telling them everything about the plan from start to finish.

"Let me get this straight. This mission you're about to go on is to find and kill Voldemort?" Ginny asked when he'd finished.

"Yes," Harry replied.

"Only, you've got to kill Lucius Malfoy first."

Harry nodded slowly.

"I've tried to find information about reversing the process whereby a Horcrux is created," said Hermione. "But I haven't had any success at all."

Harry looked at her incredulously. "You have? Why?"

"For both of you, really. I mean, Lucius is his _father_."

Harry frowned. "Why me? I mean, I get why you'd want to do that for him, but why for me too?"

"Because you've known since we were fifteen you would have to ultimately face Voldemort, and possibly kill him. He killed your parents, he's killed countless others, and he's the most evil wizard of our time. You've become accustomed to the idea of killing him, you're prepared for it. You've accepted it as a reality in order to move past his reign of evil and terror.

"Lucius is completely new. Sure, he's evil too, but you have no personal vendetta against him like you do with Voldemort. He's also very clearly _not _Voldemort; he's a follower, someone who enjoys being cruel and horrible, but only under the cloak of a black mask and the protection of someone _more _cruel than he is. Can you really kill him just as easily as Voldemort?"

Harry shifted around in his seat and continued frowning at his empty bowl.

"Harry?" said Ginny, reaching for his hand. "What is it?"

He looked at Hermione. "I was hoping not to have to think about that."

"I'm sorry, Harry. But it's been bothering me."

"Me too," he grumbled. "Maybe Draco can do it."

"No," Hermione said firmly.

"Why not?" asked Ron. "He's done it tons of times already, what's one more?"

"First of all, it's his father. Second, he doesn't kill anymore. Third, it's his _father_, Ron. How could anyone ask someone to kill his own father?"

Ron scoffed. "I don't get why we're worrying about what he thinks. And who says he doesn't kill anymore, huh?"

"It's true," said Harry.

"And you believe him?" Ron asked.

"Yes, we do." Harry sighed. "Look, it's taken us a lot of time to get to where we trust him. Hermione much longer than me. So we don't expect you to trust him just because we say you can, or should. Just – please trust _us_."

Ron sighed. "I'm here, aren't I? I do, I trust you guys, but it's Malfoy. Merlin, we've hated him for years."

"Yes, we have, Ron," agreed Hermione. "And now, we don't."

Ron shook his head. "It's going to take some time for me."

"So tell me, Hermione," Harry said, wanting to move away from the more volatile subject of Draco. "What have you done on the subject? I had no idea you were researching Horcruxes."

She gave him a tired smile. "Ever since determining that Lucius was the Horcrux, I've been trying to find ways to attack the Horcrux itself, and not the host. Or to withdraw the Horcrux from the host in order to dispose of it that way. But I've had absolutely no luck. There are only two books in the entire Ministry library that even _mention _Horcruxes, and they are not at all informative.

"This is very Dark Magic, and would require Dark writings on the subject. Dumbledore didn't even know much about them. So trying to find someone who'd not only created one, or had seen one created, but had also tried to _reverse _the spell…" She shook her head. "That would be in the Darkest book, in the darkest corner of the Darkest wizard's library."

"Well, you're in luck! You've got him living here!" said Ron.

"He doesn't know anything about them, Ron. At least, not what I'm looking for. Don't you think that if he'd heard it was possible to reverse the Horcrux, he would have looked for it? I haven't even found out what spell _creates _the thing."

"I bet he knows more than he says," said Ginny quietly.

Harry looked at Hermione. "Have you asked him?"

"No, Harry, I haven't! I don't even know if such a thing is possible, and I don't want to mention my idea without something to back it up."

"What idea?" came Draco's voice from the door.

"What do you know about Horcruxes, Malfoy?" asked Ron accusingly.

"Not much. Why?" he asked, moving further into the room.

Ron looked at Hermione, whose back was to Draco. "Hermione has an idea that maybe it could be reversed."

Draco cocked his head to the side. "Really?"

Hermione turned around to look at him. "It was just an idea I'd had. I haven't had any luck."

"Don't bother," Draco said. "He'll get what he deserves."

She wanted to protest, to ask him how he could say such a thing about his own father, but she knew from the look on his face that he wanted nothing to do with such a conversation.

"And what about you?"

"Ron!"

Draco looked at him hard, not quite glaring, but not a harmless look, either. Ron eventually wavered. "I will too, Weasley," he said quietly. Ron looked at Harry, and Draco turned to Hermione. "Granger, it's going to rain tonight. Not too hard, though."

She nodded, and Draco walked through the kitchen and up the stairs and they soon heard his door shut.

"Why did he tell you it's going to rain?" asked Ginny, unable to think of anything else to say.

Hermione sighed. "So I would know to put up a screen. I'm sleeping outside, remember?"

"Hermione, you can have your room," said Ron. "I don't mind sleeping on the sofa."

"Thank you, but no. I really like sleeping outside." She smiled at her friends. "Ron, I'm really, really glad you're here. I've missed you terribly."

"I've missed you too," he said with a smile, and Hermione knew he meant Harry too.

She smiled back at him, then at Harry. "It's good to be us again."

**ooo**

**A/N: **Thanks for reading! Oh, I can't wait until the next chapter! You're all going to freak out:)


	29. Half a League Onward

**Disclaimer**: Don't own Harry Potter. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera...

**Note**: Surprise! I felt really bad leaving everyone hanging like I did after chapter 28. So, please enjoy, and hopefully we'll all be friends again. :) Thanks, as always, to my beta, eilonwy. Much love and cookies, my dear! The title of this chapter is from the poem "Charge of the Light Brigade" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

**ooo**

**Chapter 29 - Half a League Onward**

Hermione started out in her room, in her bed, but she couldn't relax. She missed the sound of the waves crashing against the cliff, the gentle breeze caressing her skin and the smell of the salty air. After trying for half an hour to get to sleep, she even opened her window, hoping it would suffice. She was still awake after another half hour.

The entire house was silent, save for Ron's snores coming from downstairs. He'd taken the sofa, refusing to accept Hermione's offer of her room. So she had reluctantly trudged off to sleep in her bed, not wanting to "waste" a perfectly comfortable bed just because Ron was being stubborn.

Harry and Ginny were across the hall. Ron had paled when the discussion of sleeping arrangement had been broached, but had said nothing. Hermione knew the idea of his little sister married would take Ron a bit of getting used to.

It was hopeless. After sleeping outside for months, she wasn't used to her bed and couldn't get comfortable. Hermione decided to go outside after all. Something throbbed in her chest when she realized that Draco was very much asleep and would not be coming down to tuck her in. She grabbed a few extra blankets for the cold.

Despite the fact that Hermione had tiptoed down the stairs and through the sitting room, Ron woke up. He must have been sleeping lightly due to the unfamiliar surroundings.

He sat straight up, half of his hair matted to his head. Hermione stifled a giggle.

"Mione?" he said, half asleep, his eyes still closed.

"Ron, go back to sleep."

He opened his eyes then, and squinted at her, as though the sun were shining right into them. "What are you doing?" he asked, his speech slurred slightly.

"Going outside."

"Why?"

"Can't sleep."

"Do you always sleep outside? Even in the snow?" he asked.

"Yes. Draco put up wards to keep the snow from falling on the porch, and also to keep it warm."

"Oh. So it's Draco now, is it?"

She gave him a lopsided smile. "Sometimes. He's really quite changed, Ron. I know you can't possibly understand it all, since they're leaving in about a week, and I don't even know it all. But he's much changed. Just promise me you'll give him a chance. At least the chance to show you that he really cares about Harry."

"Right. Sure. When V-Voldemort shows up at my house with a bouquet of pansies. And a box of chocolates for Mum."

"Ron," she said, caught between wanting to be upset with him and wanting to laugh at the image.

He waved his hand about in front of him. "Yeah, yeah. Fine, whatever. I – I'll give him a chance. But you should know how much I want to hit him for making you cry."

"Yes, I do. Fully. And thank you. But please don't, okay?"

He nodded and slumped back down onto his pillow.

"Are you warm enough?" Hermione asked.

Ron frowned, as though the effort to answer her was enormous. "I'm okay."

"Would you like another blanket? I've got a few here."

He'd fallen asleep. Hermione shook her head smiling, and went to the sofa. She laid one of her blankets over Ron and saw him snuggle under the added warmth.

The bitter wind hit her immediately as she shut the porch door, but she smiled as she moved toward her swing and felt the warmer air surround her. She made her bed and was asleep within minutes.

Ron woke up one more time that night, but he didn't move. Immediately alert, he listened intently. It sounded like someone walking down the stairs. He turned to watch, and was surprised to see Malfoy appear, wearing sleeping clothes and carrying a traveling cloak. He watched as Malfoy walked to the back of the house, then he heard a door open and shut. Not five minutes later, the door opened and shut again, and seconds later Malfoy appeared without the cloak, and ascended the stairs. Ron really wanted to think about what it might mean, but was hit with a wave of fatigue and fell asleep before he could.

**ooo**

Draco and Harry stayed for six days before departing. With Ginny's help, Hermione spent most of the time brewing potions, preparing salves and creams, and gathering provisions for the extended mission. The time passed quickly and pleasantly.

The morning after their arrival, Ron had noticed Hermione come back into the house with a familiar traveling cloak, and had decided to give Malfoy a bit of a chance. He spent all his time with Harry and Draco, watching them duel, being jealous of all Harry had learned and in utter awe of Draco's abilities. Harry promised to teach him everything once it was all over. When they weren't training, they prepared for the trip in other ways, poring over maps and documents they'd gathered for hours at a time. No one bothered to mention that the event might not turn out favorably for all concerned, which would mean for no one concerned.

Yet they all knew it, and it was in the backs of all their minds, even Draco's. He knew that if Harry were killed before himself, he would be in the biggest mess of his life. He was comforted in knowing that the remainder of it would at least then be short, albeit painful.

Hermione watched Draco over the six days. She listened to him when he talked to Harry about their mission. She picked up on the intonations of his speech, the way he casually tossed around the idea of his death. It unnerved her to no end. As the time came for their departure, she was nearing a panic, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly why.

Finally the even of Harry and Draco's departure arrived. Hermione and Ginny fixed a glorious going-away dinner, complete with decorations and place settings. They talked pleasantly through all of dinner, and well after it. When Hermione offered to serve a special cake she and Ginny had made, Draco declined and excused himself. She watched in disappointment as he walked out onto the porch and sat down.

She shrugged it off, but that panic she'd been feeling crept back into her thoughts. Harry, Ron, Ginny, and she moved into the sitting room with their cake to continue the conversation. Despite Ron and Ginny's efforts to be civil, it was much freer with Malfoy out of the room, which perhaps had been his design in leaving them alone.

Hermione allowed her mind to wander back to him as her friends talked. She replayed everything he'd said since returning with Ron and Ginny, and tried to recall his manner when they were said. Finally, an idea struck her hard in the heart – he meant to die. He meant to allow himself to be killed for some reason. Why? Had he despaired so much of life?

Hermione needed to talk to Draco. When she was sufficiently out of the conversation with Harry, Ron and Ginny, she casually stood up and walked out onto the porch, grabbing Draco's cloak from where it was hung on the wall by the door and throwing it around her shoulders as she went.

Draco was reading when he saw Hermione walk outside. The wind immediately rushed through her hair and the cloak she wore: his. He watched her walk to the railing and rest a hand on it. She stared out at the water for a few minutes, drinking in the cold wind and the crashing sound of the waves. It reminded him of when they'd started, months ago. Then to his surprise, she looked at him. Pointedly. For a few seconds. Then she left the porch and walked down to the lawn between the house and the cliff and out of sight.

He sat there for a moment, trying to determine what had happened. Then something clicked and he followed her. She was sitting in the grass and hugging her knees, which were pulled up to her chest. The wind was still whipping through her hair. Draco sat down next to her.

For a few moments, neither spoke.

Then Hermione said, "So, you're planning on dying, right?"

Draco was quite stunned at her question. "Sorry?"

She looked at him, an unreadable expression on her face. "You're thinking you'll die."

He tried to force a smile, but couldn't quite manage it. "I don't exactly follow."

"You've come back bloodied, beaten, and broken more than once, but Harry hasn't had a scratch. You have been sacrificing yourself so Harry wouldn't be hurt, haven't you?"

He winced and looked away from her. "You're too smart for your own good, Granger."

"So it's true."

He sighed. "Yes. I've taken Harry's share of beatings."

"And you would die for him."

Draco took a deep, cleansing breath. "Yes," he said quietly. "If it meant Harry got even one more shot at him."

"You'd take the Killing Curse for him."

"There are many things worse than death, Hermione."

Her heart started beating faster when he used her name. "Dumbledore told Harry that once. Said it was Voldemort's weakness, that he believed there was nothing worse than death."

Draco chuckled. "Who would have thought I'd ever have anything in common with that old loon?"

She jabbed him on the shoulder. "Dumbledore was not a loon, he was brilliant." Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "Okay, he could be _loony_ at times, but he was the most brilliant wizard of our time."

They were silent again for a moment.

"Why?" she asked.

"Why would I die for Harry?"

She nodded.

He continued. "Because it's the right thing to do. It's an atonement for my crimes. It's helping a friend. It's helping to ensure a world without fear." He looked at her. "It's the right thing to do."

She averted her face, not wanting him to see her tears.

"Besides, it's not like the world will mourn. They'll be glad I'm dead. Sure, he died to save Harry, but good riddance anyway." Draco scoffed. "I can never be part of life. I gave it up long ago, and now I'm just trying to give life to people who will be able to live it."

"Don't talk like that."

"What do you expect? That I could walk down the street, step into the supermarket and buy bananas like nothing happened? Wake up, Granger, smell the ocean around you. There's nothing left for me. I'm fine with that. I came to terms with it long ago.

She turned back to him, tears flowing freely. His heart twisted at the sight of the streaks running over her cheeks. "Don't be stupid, Malfoy. You can have a life once this is over, you don't have to run off to some island and hide away forever. You don't have to sacrifice yourself needlessly. You'll prove yourself to everyone by what you've been doing, and they will forgive, they will. I did."

"But you can't forget. You see them when you look at me, I can see it in your eyes. No matter what happens, no matter how much I do for you or for the people you care about, you will always see me as a murderer, the one who killed your parents. That will never change. And all the other people I killed, their families will be the same."

Hermione put her hand on his arm. She desperately wanted him to believe her. "I forgive you though, and that's something."

"Not nearly enough." He looked into her eyes and continued softly. "Your forgiveness means more to me than you could ever know. But it's not enough."

"Why not? Why can't it be? Let it be a start, Draco."

"I can't anchor my life to one act of kindness. It's not sure enough."

"It is certain. I know you. I will not change."

The significance of her words struck him. "What are you going to do? Stick around? Remind me every day that I'm not a complete waste of space?"

"If I have to."

He shook his head, chuckling sadly. "Hermione, you have such a wonderful life ahead of you. Full of happiness and peace. You don't need to bother with me."

"It's not a bother, Draco. In case you hadn't noticed, you've come to be important to me. I care about you. I don't want you to run off and get yourself killed because you don't care if you live or not. I want you to live." She added quietly, "I want to see where this is going."

He frowned, scared that she had meant what he thought she meant, but hoping she did, too. "Where what's going?"

She looked at him. "This."

Draco's felt his insides squirm something fierce, his heart rate increased three-fold, and his throat went dry as she looked intently into his eyes. He was at a complete loss for words. He swallowed hard, meaning to say something, but his mind had gone completely blank. She just kept looking at him. He looked away and could feel the fog lessen a bit, just enough to get a few words out.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Malfoy, look at me."

He didn't, nor did he intend to.

"Malfoy, look at me," she said, more firmly. He continued staring out at the water in front of him. "Draco, _please_."

Oh no. She'd said his name _and_ please. Draco felt his resolve weaken, but he had to stay strong. If he looked at her, it would all be over. He shut his eyes. "No."

Hermione refused to accept his answer. She reached her right hand to his face, resting it on his left cheek. His skin was warm and soft as silk. She ignored the surging sensation and gently turned his head to look at her.

Yet he still resisted in looking at her by refusing to open his eyes. He would not look into her eyes.

"Draco," she whispered, pleadingly, earnestly, finally pushing through his defenses.

He opened his eyes to look into hers. But he didn't have time to search them or read them or drown in them. Because when their eyes met, she closed the small distance between them and kissed him.

Fire ran through him at her touch. For a fraction of a second, he hesitated. But only for a fraction of a second. He took her face in his hands and commandeered the kiss. He took it from soft and timid to fierce and full. He kissed her with everything he had, all the fear, longing, pain, and joy he felt. He kissed her because he was scared to die, and he too wanted to see where this would go. He kissed her because of the secrets he kept from her, willing her to trust him, to believe him, to know that he would tell her. He told her he loved her, he would do anything for her, would die for her, would even try to live for her.

He was brought back to reality when he tasted salt. He opened his eyes and saw her tears, so he stopped kissing her and pulled back. He couldn't believe how hard it was to put even a few inches of distance between them, like fighting against a raging tide.

Hermione's eyes flew open tears filling her eyelashes; he could see her eyelashes. She gave him a small smile.

Despite that, a giant boulder implanted itself in Draco's gut. He'd just confessed everything to her in that kiss. Yet it seemed impossible to imagine that she could ever truly accept him; she would despise him for those secrets. And then a tiny voice, sounding a lot like Hermione's voice, piped its way itself into his brain and squeaked, _But maybe…_

Hope. It was almost harder to endure than his feelings for her. He could push those aside, reason that nothing would ever happen. But hope gnawed at him, saying "maybe." Maybe she'd forgive him – again. Maybe she'd look past everything about him and give him a chance anyway. Then again, maybe she'd hate him and curse him, turn him forever into a ferret that she'd keep locked in a cage on her back porch where he'd have to watch her fall in love and get married and have kids and smile at someone _else _like that. Could ferrets feel? Or think? Maybe, if they used to be human.

Draco ripped his gaze away and faced the ocean instead. Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, sighing contentedly.

He resisted the urge to shake her off. "Granger," he croaked, surprised to find that his voice worked.

"Hmm?" she said, clearly smiling, clearly happy. He could tell, the snowman with the heart of ice. Even the fish in the water far below could probably tell.

"Why – why did you cry?" he managed to say.

"I don't know, really. I'm sorry."

"Don't say that," he said forcefully.

She tilted her head to look up at him. He wasn't smiling, and there was no light in his eyes. He was most certainly _not _happy.

Hermione sat up and crossed her arms. "What?" she asked, confused.

Draco looked at her, surprised at the tone of her voice. "What?"

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Draco Malfoy. I know that's not true."

"Well, congratulations."

"Please tell me."

He shook his head. "It's – I can't. You'll find out soon enough." He looked at her again finally, trying to hide his raging emotions.

"I think I cried because of everything that's going on," she said, looking away. "You and Harry are leaving tomorrow, and I don't even know if I'll ever see either of you again, and who knows what will happen when Harry fights Voldemort. And Ron and Ginny are here, and I could see how I used to feel about you in Ron's words, and I hated seeing it. And I saw how their words affected you, that you couldn't let them roll off you like before because you care about things now. Maybe Harry, maybe me; I even think you care about them because of Harry. And it's not fair, but Ron doesn't know any better.

"He doesn't know who you are. And I wanted to tell you that you can't just drop off the earth and expect nothing to happen. Maybe before no one cared about you, but someone cares about you now. Harry and I do. _I _do. You matter to _me_, and you have to know that before you carelessly throw your life away. Someone would miss you. So think about that" To Draco's surprise, Hermione stood abruptly and returned to the house. He heard the porch door close.

Draco sat rooted to the spot for an hour. Hermione cared about him-- about _him. _The Death Eater, the killer, the beast. How could she? She looked past all those adjectives and focused on him. Granted, he had changed greatly in two years, but she had made the effort to believe in him.

He hadn't set out to make friends, but he'd quickly come to see Harry as one. It took longer with Hermione, probably because he rarely saw her, not to mention what she believed he'd done to her parents. But now she cared about him.

And if that kiss was anything to go by – No. There's that hope again. He swallowed the thought and hesitantly reconsidered his position. He would still die for Harry, but only in dire need. He would be careful not to take unnecessary risks or blows. Someone wanted him to come back. He smiled as her words finally sank in. He mattered to someone.

Caring about Hermione after she was left alone two years ago had saved him, brought him purpose and the beginnings of meaning to his life. He had crawled toward life but always felt that something prevented him from embracing it fully. Now he knew what was needed – having someone else genuinely care about him. Now, suddenly, he'd been yanked the rest of the way and finally found himself smiling like that insane person Harry was always trying to imitate. A real, genuine smile that came from his heart and warmed his body, even to the tips of his fingers.

Tomorrow would be easy. And the next day. And the entire week, and month. The Dark Lord stood no chance, not now that his once most trusted and faithful servant had seen what he'd only ever heard about in distant whispers.

**ooo**

Harry woke before dawn the next morning. He kissed his wife on the forehead while she slept, his heart aching at leaving her but full of love. He quietly made his way down the stairs and frowned briefly at the sight of Ron asleep on the sofa.

Draco was waiting for him outside the sitting room. Their eyes met; Draco nodded and they went for the door.

Hermione was on the front stoop, dressed for travel and bags packed.

"Hermione!" said Harry. "What are you doing?"

"Coming with you," she said, standing and catching up her bag.

Both men gaped at her.

"Absolutely not," said Draco.

"No, Hermione, you can't."

"Why not? Harry, I've been with you through everything. Voldemort, Death Eaters, Horcruxes, life, death-- everything. I want to be with you when you face him."

"No," growled Draco, shooting daggers with his eyes.

Harry took her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Hermione, think. We've been training and planning for months; you haven't. If these people got one glimpse of you, just one, they would target you, go after you. Use you to get to me, to get us off this track we've laid. And of course, we wouldn't rest until you were safe, and that could potentially cost us everything we've worked so hard for."

Tears poured down her cheeks. "Harry, I can't stay here, waiting. I can't just sit and do nothing. I can't…"

"But you must! Ron and Ginny are here for you."

"They'll be just as worried as I am, now that they know about all this. I mean it, Harry. Ron will drive me insane with his incessant blabbering, which you know he does when he's upset. And Ginny! She'll be a fountain; I'll drown! I don't want to have to mop up after them, take care of them, all the while worried out of my wits about you two."

"Hermione, you need to stay. They're your friends. You'll be glad to have each other."

"No." She readjusted her bag. "I'm coming."

Draco was getting annoyed. They were going to be late, and Harry's diplomacy would make it certain. "No. You're not." He advanced on Hermione and picked her up by the legs, throwing her over his shoulder. Harry almost laughed.

Hermione beat on Draco's back, screaming at him to put her down.

"Granger, shut up! You're going to wake Weasley and Ginny."

Hermione scowled and continued to hit him, but stopped yelling. Draco carried her into the house, up the stairs, and into her room. He set her down on the bed. She tried to get up; he grabbed her wrists and held her down.

She struggled, but when she looked into Draco's eyes, she saw they were wet. She lay still, holding his gaze.

"Don't make me Immobilize you."

She nodded. He released her wrists and took one of her hands in his. "I promise to come back, if you promise to stay," he said softly.

She looked at him and saw that he meant it. She nodded, scared to speak. "I promise," she whispered.

Draco kissed the palm of her hand and then the pulse point of her wrist, his eyes locked with hers, and then left the room without a word or a glance back. Hermione cried herself to sleep.

**ooo**

**A/N**: Oh, I'm all a-jitters! Did you like it? Please tell me! Oh, and thanks for reading! Love you all!


	30. Catch Up With The Sun

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter. Not making any money off this. Having a blast though!

**Note: **Triple scoops of ice cream with sprinkles and hot fudge sauce to my beta, eilonwy! Thanks for everything! And the title of this chapter comes from "Time" by Pink Floyd.

**ooo**

**Chapter 30 – Catch Up With The Sun**

Time is funny. Sometimes it does what you want, what you expect. Other times, it laughs at you and rubs salt in your gaping wounds. But only on the rarest of occasions is it kind.

**o **

**Day One **

**o**

Hermione woke late and when she realized why she was in her bed, instead of outside on the porch, her heart clenched painfully and tears threatened to spill over. They'd been gone only a few hours and already panic threatened to grip her. They were gone now, out of her reach.

A clanging sounded from somewhere in the house, and she remembered that Ron and Ginny were there as well; a smile broke through her frown and worry. They were there because Draco hadn't wanted her to be alone. Hermione remembered his promise to come back. She knew he would still give his life for Harry if it came to it, but at least he knew he had a reason to live.

Someone knocked softly on her door. It was Ron; he poked his head around the door, a goofy grin on his face. "Oh good, you're awake. What do you lot do for breakfast around here?"

Hermione smiled, thankful for her friends and for Draco. "I'm coming," she said. Ron nodded and shut the door.

**ooo**

"So, Hermione."

"Yes, Ginny?"

"What do you do for fun around here?" Ginny was stretched out on the sofa, still in her pajamas – they all were – snuggled under a warm blanket pulled to her chin. Hermione was sitting on the floor beside her.

Hermione smiled. "Fun? Oh, we don't usually hold with that here."

Ginny quirked an eyebrow. "Really. No fun? Not even a little?"

"Well… maybe a little. When Draco isn't around. Why do you think I went to the Burrow so often?"

"That makes sense. I can't imagine you and Harry having much in common with Malfoy," Ginny said. Then she added hastily, "At least in terms of what you consider fun. I would imagine his idea of it would be quite different from yours."

"We're not _so _different, Ginny. True, as kids we had different ideas of what constituted a good time, but he likes to read, and we've had a number of really good discussions about things. About books, mostly."

"Sounds fascinating," Ginny said, a laugh evident in her tone. Hermione gave her a light shove and Ginny smiled.

Then the smile disappeared and she sat up, drawing the blanket around her. "So… what do you do to keep from going crazy?" she asked seriously.

"Yeah," came Ron's voice. Hermione turned to see him in the doorway levitating three mugs of hot chocolate.

"Oh, Ron, you're wonderful," Hermione said as she took one from him. He handed the third to Ginny and sat down in a chair. She took a few sips and sighed. "They've only just left this morning. There's nothing to worry about."

"Yet," said Ginny. "And how do we know when to start worrying?"

"They said they'd probably be about a month. In the past, I've started worrying three days before their expected return."

"Except this time, they're going against Voldemort," said Ron.

"But not yet. That will be at the end. That will _be _the end."

Ginny's furrowed her brow and squeezed the blanket tighter.

"Ginny, don't worry. Harry wouldn't want you to be twisted into knots for a whole month. Save your energy."

"So what do we do today?" asked Ron. "And tomorrow? And next week? Are we stuck here?"

"We shouldn't leave," Hermione insisted. "If one of us were captured, it might ruin Draco's plans."

Ron scowled. "_Draco's_ plans. Why about Harry? He can have plans too."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Ron, of course. _Their _plans."

"When did you start calling him Draco?" Ginny asked quietly.

"Yeah," chimed Ron. "I'd like to know that too."

"Actually, I don't usually call him that. I call him Malfoy when I speak to him. When Harry and I talk, we use Draco, but Harry's been calling him that for months now. I… am just starting to. It's very slow in coming and it's not easy."

"You've really forgiven him?" Ginny asked.

"Yes. Because he's really sorry."

"How can you believe him, Hermione?" Ron asked with a frown. "I'm sorry, I get that he might have changed, that people change, but still! It's Malfoy!"

"I just do. He's told me, actually, and more than once. He's _shown _me… He's changed, Ron. Even in the few months since I've been here, he's changed. My parents were the last people he killed. Something changed in him that night. I don't know what, but he was supposed to kill me too and he didn't. He _didn't_, okay?" She was fighting back tears, but she didn't care. She needed them to believe her, to trust her about him. She knew with all her heart she would need them to trust in Draco before the end.

"Don't cry, Hermione," said Ginny kindly, wrapping her arms around Hermione's neck. "Just give us some time. As you fill us in on the past six months, we'll start to understand, okay? Will you do that?"

Hermione nodded, blinking her tears away.

"So… you've got films, I heard?" said Ron.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Girl rubbish, as Harry calls it, and boy films where the main characters have extraordinary powers and always get the hot girls."

Ron rubbed his hands together. "Well, let's get started them. How long will it take to get through them all?"

"Maybe three days."

Ginny nodded. "Three days. Well, it's three days. Let's get started, then."

**o **

**Day Three**

**o**

"Potter."

"What?"

"Stop fidgeting."

"Sorry."

Draco nodded and returned to staring out the window as the train sped through the countryside.

"Draco?"

"What?"

"Do you think they'll be all right?"

Draco sighed. "Yes."

"I'm worried Hermione will do something…rash."

"She won't," Draco replied quietly. He tried to shove out of his mind the image of the last time he saw her, eyes nearly bursting with tears, her brilliant but hopeless hair spread beneath her head as he kissed her wrist. He shook the image away. "Besides, as a rule, she isn't a rash person."

"Yeah, I know."

Neither of them spoke, and soon after Draco stretched out on the seat and closed his eyes.

"Potter," he said after a few minutes, his eyes still shut.

"Yeah?"

"How's Ginny?"

"She's fine, actually. Thank you for asking."

"Are you at all concerned _she'll _do something rash?"

"No, not at all. We – we talked. Pretty much all night. And, well, you know. She's got other things to think about."

"True. What about Weasley?"

"He won't leave Hermione." Draco didn't open his eyes, didn't make a single noise whatsoever, but Harry saw his jaw tighten and his nostrils flare for an instant. "Remember what I told you?" Harry asked.

He smirked. "You've told me a lot of things, Harry. You'll have to be more specific."

"We're like brothers to her. He doesn't want her hurt any more than you do."

Draco clenched his jaw a few more times before opening his eyes to look at Harry. "Oh, that's right. I do remember this conversation."

"Yes," said Harry, grinning. "We've had it a few times, as I recall, haven't we?"

"And it's always the same. I'm going to sleep now."

"When is it going to be different?"

Draco didn't answer right away. Then, "Not today."

**o **

**Day Seven**

**o**

"I've got an idea!" exclaimed Ginny.

"What?" said Ron, popping a few peanuts and sounding not at all excited. "Go through the films a third time?"

"No," she said, pushing him playfully.

"What's your idea, Ginny?" Hermione asked.

They were again in the sitting room, all in pajamas, all on the sofa with blankets piled around them. It almost looked as though they hadn't moved in seven days.

"Let's go through Malfoy's room!"

That perked Ron up instantly. "Excellent!" He started to stand up, but Hermione grabbed his shirt and pulled him back down. "Hey!"

"We're not going through his room!" Hermione said. "That – that's rude, and it's his own personal space."

"Come on, Hermione. Aren't you at all interested in what he's got in there?" Ginny asked, trying to sound convincing.

"I've had plenty of opportunities to sneak around in his room, and I never have. Besides, knowing him, there are wards all over the place."

Both Ginny and Ron stared at her, and Ginny said, "_Knowing him_. I'm still getting used to that idea."

"I know. I'm glad _you're_ trying," she said, and then looked pointedly at Ron.

"Hey!" he said, throwing his hands up in defense. "I haven't said anything…in…what, two hours?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's a personal best, you know," Ron said huffily.

"Come on, just one peek through his dresser," pleaded Ginny.

"No!"

"His books?"

"No! I'm serious, you two. Go look through my room, if you must."

Ginny and Ron looked at each other for a moment before jumping off the sofa and racing to the stairs. Ginny beat Ron and shoved him away.

"Hey!" he called after her before charging up the stairs after her.

Hermione shook her head and picked up her book. After a moment, however, she heard a squeal.

"Hermione! Your room! Now!" came Ginny's subsequent command.

When she arrived in her doorway, she saw that Ginny had spread a few of her robes from Draco on the bed. Ron was poking through her books and, to her annoyance, her letters.

"What, Ginny?"

"Where did these_ come_ from?" she asked, not looking up from her intense examination of the robes. "I mean, I know _where _they came from – Welton and James – but how did _you _get them?"

"You've heard of Welton and James?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Um…yes. They're only the most sought-after purveyor of wizarding wear in all of England."

"I… uhm, oh. Well, I hadn't heard of them."

"You're avoiding the question," said Ginny, putting her hands on her hips and cocking her head to the side.

"Which was?" Hermione asked with a faint smile.

"Where did you get them?"

Hermione sighed. "Well… Draco, actually."

Ginny's jaw dropped and Ron looked up from the book he'd been flipping through.

"Malfoy…gave them to you?"

Now that she thought about it, and the way Ginny said it, it _was _a little odd that he'd given them to her. She'd never thought it odd before, it seemed to make sense, but now… it sounded weird.

"Why?" Ron asked.

"Well, when we first came here, I didn't have anything with me, just the clothes I'd worn to work. He had them here for me already."

"Oh," said Ginny. She and Ron looked at each other and Ron frowned.

"Why is he buying you clothes?" he asked.

"Because… he said because I hadn't had a chance to get anything together, they basically just kidnapped me and gave me the chance to either join them or not. Then, after I did, I never really went back to my flat for much."

Then Ginny smiled. "So… he bought you clothes."

"Yes, Ginny."

"Huh. Interesting. Filing that away for future use…"

"I'm not sure what you're thinking," Hermione said cautiously.

"Not much at the moment, but there are little pieces, here and there…" Ginny continued to smile, looking entirely too smug for Hermione's liking. Ron was still frowning, looking between the two women.

Hermione was really not ready for that conversation. "Yes, well, then you two have fun. I'm going to go back downstairs and reclaim my spot on the sofa."

**o **

**Day Eleven**

**o**

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

"Hand me that – what did you call it? Screwdriver?"

Harry obliged.

"Remind me why we're doing this the Muggle way?" Draco muttered in annoyance. He was in the process of removing the doorknob from an old, seemingly abandoned shack in the middle of a dense forest. The shack was really a Death Eater hideout that had very recently been used, perhaps even by Lucius.

Harry chuckled. "The less magic we do, the less chance we have of being detected. And unlocking charms are highly traceable."

Draco knew that, he just really didn't like what he was having to do. Why Harry couldn't turn the little screws was beyond him; he seemed to think he was better used holding the… electric torch?

"How do you think they're doing?" Harry asked.

Draco was concentrating on the blasted screws. "Fine, I'm sure," he said distractedly.

"You still sending owls every three days? With the blank parchment?"

"Uh-huh," Draco said distractedly, still concentrating on the screws. "Granger's smart; she'll know what it's about." He frowned, the last screw giving him trouble. Finally, "Got it." The doorknob came off and the door slowly swung open on squeaky hinges. The inside was small, only one room, and it was full of dust. There was a table in the middle of the room, and chairs thrown around, but nothing else.

"Potter. Open a window?"

Harry stopped. "Right…" He went to the wall nearest the table and opened the half-rotten shutters.

Draco wiped the table thoroughly, taking care to remove every speck of dust. Then he pulled a piece of parchment from his robes and magically expanded it to the size of the table. He gently smoothed it down until it lay completely flat on its surface. With a tap of his wand and a whispered _"Transcribo,"_ words slowly appeared on the parchment. It was like doing a tracing in pencil; if someone had written something on the table, a letter perhaps, then a trace would be left behind, even if only very faint. The darker the words, the more recently they were written or the harder the writer had pressed with his quill.

"Done," Draco said.

Harry walked to the table and they both studied what had been revealed. Portions of letters and instructions were concentrated on the center, but just barely Harry noticed a fluid 'L' Draco tapped his wand again, and most of the words disappeared, leaving behind a few pieces of words that could be distinguished from the smudges.

"Looks like somewhere near Lancaster," said Draco.

"Yes, it does."

They both straightened and Draco returned the parchment to its original size and stuffed it back into his robe.

"You know, we get closer every day," said Harry.

Draco nodded. "Yeah."

"Are you okay with that?"

Draco shrugged. "I have to be. I made this choice a long time ago, and I intend to see it through. Are you worrying about me _now,_ Potter?"

"No!" Harry said quickly. "No, it… just can't be easy. If you… wanted to talk…."

"You're like Granger," Draco said with a chuckle. "You think I'm like… you. That I'd want to talk. I mean, I'm not like you. I don't want to talk, I want to get it done and… move on."

"A man of few words, but much action."

"Exactly," said Draco with a smile. "Now. Let's go, shall we?"

**o **

**Day Fourteen**

**o**

"Hermione!"

"What, Ron?" she said, huffing into the sitting room to find Ron slouched on the sofa, the remote in his hand.

"There's nothing on."

"What do you want _me _to do about it?"

"Go get a new film."

"I can't leave," she said, slightly exasperated. They'd been over this already. A _few _times. She sat down next to him heavily.

"Summon one?" he asked, sounding slightly hopeful.

"I can't, and you know it."

"Hermione, I'm bored."

She chuckled. "There's nothing I can do. I suggest you take up a new hobby."

"Like what? Reading?" he said with a scoff.

"You don't hear _me _complaining about being bored, do you?"

"Come on," he whined. "Let us go through Malfoy's room!"

"Ron! That idea has already been brought up and squelched."

"By _you_."

"I wouldn't let him go through your room."

"Come on, you're no fun."

"I said no, Ron."

He only made a vague growling noise and resumed flipping through channels on the telly.

**ooo**

That night after dinner, when Ron was safely out of earshot, Ginny said, "Hermione, I want to know what's going on between you and Malfoy."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked slowly.

Ginny smirked. "I think you know _exactly_ what I mean."

Even though she'd hoped to avoid this inevitable conversation for just a little while longer, perhaps sooner would be better. And…in all honesty, it was natural for women to want to talk about the men they fancied.

Hermione smiled shyly. "Well…"

"Do you fancy him?" Ginny asked, looking at once both serious and excited.

"I… Yes. _Oh, I said it_. I can't believe it. I've never said it out loud!"

Ginny smiled warmly. "I've suspected ever since we first came here. That night you and Harry explained everything to us… you defended him so strongly, and the way he looked at you was positively sizzling."

Hermione blushed. "Well, now, _that _I wouldn't know – "

"And then there was the fact that he wanted Ron and me here for you. Then the robes, and the sparkle you get in your eyes whenever you talk about him. It's glaringly obvious, you know."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Do you think Ron suspects?" she asked Ginny.

Ginny started to shake her head, but a voice interrupted them.

"Suspects what?" Ginny and Hermione looked at each other as Ron came further into the kitchen and sat at the table with them. "What is it I might suspect?"

"Now, Ron," started Ginny. "I'm talking to Hermione."

"Yeah, and I'm not completely deaf, you know. I was only in the other room. Only I didn't catch everything. What _about_ Malfoy?"

"Nothing," said Hermione quickly.

Ron scoffed. "Surely you must know I don't believe you." He sighed. "Okay, is this about you and Malfoy?"

Hermione held his gaze for a moment before deciding she didn't care if Ron knew. She needed them to see Draco through her eyes and not only their own.

"I…fancy him, Ron."

His eyes bugged and his jaw dropped. "What!?" he exclaimed, his distaste evident. "Wha – how? That's… what?"

Hermione looked at her two friends. Could they possibly _truly _accept what she would tell them? Ginny maybe, but Ron was a different story. Ever since they went out briefly and discovered they were better as friends, he'd been very protective of her with respect to the blokes she'd dated.

"Oh Ron, grow up," scolded Ginny. "Leave her alone. If there's something going on between them, then we – including _you – _need to accept it. And _him_."

Ron scrunched up his nose. "As if that twit could _ever _be good enough for you, Hermione."

She said nothing, just looked in her lap.

Then Ron said, slowly, "You… _like…_ him."

She took a deep breath. Then, "Yes."

"But how?" Ron asked. "How can you _like_ him? How can you stand to be in the same _room_ with him? He killed your parents!"

"I know, Ron. But… I don't know, things are different. He's so different. I can't begin to tell you what it's been like living here."

"When did you first start having feelings for him?" asked Ginny.

"After Christmas. Remember when we told you that Lucius attacked me? "

"Yes," said Ron, cautiously.

"Well, Lucius didn't hurt me – much. Draco and Harry came for me and things were fine afterwards. Anyway, I could tell that Draco was really upset at what his father did, as if he really cared about me. And, well, he helped me through that, and he's always been kind and caring, even though at the same time he's been impossible and the same as he's always been. Oh, it's so hard to describe."

"More importantly," said Ron. "Does he feel the same way about you?"

Hermione could no longer restrain the gigantic smile that had been threatening to show itself ever since she admitted aloud she liked Draco. "I… think so."

"You _think_ so? Shouldn't you _know_?" said Ron.

"We've never actually talked about it, Ron. But… we kissed."

"What?!" squealed Ginny, bouncing in her chair. "You kissed him? Did he kiss you? What was it like? Oh Merlin, Hermione!"

Ron looked like he might be sick on something he ate for dinner.

"Yes, he kissed me. It was…" How could you describe something so perfect, so meaningful, and intense and powerful and so… sad?

Ginny squeezed her hand. "It's okay. Keep it for yourself."

Hermione smiled at her friend and returned the squeeze.

"When did you know he cared for you?"

"I think he's somehow cared about me the whole time. I saw it, looking back, in the little things he did, like always checking on me at night to make sure I was covered when I slept, thinking of my safety all the time. I don't think he liked me, he just cared. I don't even really know for sure how he feels, he's so guarded and in an instant he'll throw up ten-foot walls with iron bars that no one can get through."

"Sounds – wonderful," said Ginny, smiling at her.

"I don't know what it is. All I know is that he'd better not die because I will be very put out."

"Could that happen?" asked Ron.

"_Hello_! They're going to fight Voldemort. It's a given that death is a possibility."

"Let's not talk about that," said Ginny.

"Let's play Exploding Snap!" said Ron. Ginny nodded enthusiastically, and Hermione smiled. Avoidance was running amuck in the room. She followed the two redheads into the sitting room to join their game.

**o **

**Day Twenty-four**

**o**

Wham! 

Draco slammed the door behind him and strode angrily into the room. Harry came in after him.

"Malfoy, will you wait a second?"

He glared at Harry, but said nothing.

"Draco – "

"What? What do you want?"

"I – well, if you want to talk about it…" Harry's voice trailed off at the look of violence in Draco's eyes.

"Do I have a bloody lion on my forehead or something? Something to make you think I'm one of you lot? I don't _talk_. I don't want to open up, tell you how I'm _feeling_." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "None of that rubbish. I – I want to be left alone."

"Okay, okay, I get it. You don't want to talk to me."

Draco sat on the edge of the bed and let his head drop into his hands. Harry stood awkwardly near the door still, looking at Draco's back.

"But would you talk to Hermione? If she were here?"

Draco turns around and gives him the look of death. "She… she's out of this time, she's… not here, she… no, I wouldn't talk to her." He paused. "I – I might; no. I wouldn't. I mean, what am I supposed to say?"

"He's your father."

"Yeah, I know. That's why you're _asking _me if I want to talk about it."

"It's not like he's some random person."

"I _know _what tomorrow is, Harry. I get it. But I don't need to talk, all right?" Draco said with extreme annoyance. He turned back around to face the wall, face away from Harry.

"You'd talk to her," Harry said.

"I don't know," Draco said. "It – it's not likely. She's in another world, she doesn't exist here. I have to _do _this, I can't think about her. Or… _anything_ her."

"I understand that."

"So it's pointless to ask if I would talk to her. I haven't ever before, even though she's offered. I could, I know I could. I might, I don't know. Okay? I…"

"Do you love her?"

He paused a long time before answering. "Ask me tomorrow."

**ooo**

"Hermione?"

"Yeah, Ginny?"

"It's been over three weeks, you know."

"I know." They were once again on the sofa. Hermione suspected it would be forever altered due to the nearly constant presence of all three of them on its cushions.

"You said they'd be gone maybe four?"

Hermione nodded.

"It – is it okay to start worrying now?"

"As if you haven't been worried the whole time."

"Well, I mean full-out worrying. You know, holding nothing back."

Hermione chuckled. "I see."

"So what do you do when you worry?"

"Ginny, are you asking me how to worry?"

"I was just wondering…"

"Usually, I stop eating, I don't sleep very well, and I'm just a mess, in general."

"Sounds like how I feel."

"Look, let's try, you and me and Ron. Let's try hard not to let ourselves get sick. I mean, who knows what happens when they come back." She looked at Ginny, willing her to remember to think positively, to know that they were, in fact, coming back. "I mean, who knows what they'll need from us, we have to be ready to move, to go."

"Right, yes. So we keep eating."

"Yes. And we have to sleep."

"Okay."

"Good."

"Hermione?"

"Yeah, Ginny?"

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

"Of course. How are you holding up?"

"I can't believe… it's here. I mean, it's really here."

"I know," said Hermione.

"Hey, Hermione?" called Ron. Moments later he appeared in the doorway.

"Yes, Ron?"

"Where's the – oh. Sorry."

"It's okay. We were talking about Harry."

"Oh," he said, looking down. "Yeah. Uhm, where's the cereal?"

"We ran out this morning."

"What am I supposed to eat?"

"It's not breakfast, though."

"I know, I'm hungry."

"Well, I'll fix you some eggs."

"I don't want eggs."

"That's what we have."

"Can't you send the owl out for cereal?"

"Ron!" said Ginny. "Come on, stop it."

"Sorry, I just… I can't talk about Harry, is all."

"I know," said Hermione, smiling up at him. "I'll fix you some eggs."

"That's all?"

"That's all, Ron."

He nodded and left the doorway, but returned a moment later. He sat next to Hermione on the sofa and put his arms around her. "I don't understand how you're so strong right now. I – I'm not. I'm completely not. Barely holding on. I have to think about cereal every waking moment in order to not go insane."

"I wouldn't assume, if I were you, that I am doing any better than you. I'm just showing it differently."

"And you're worried about Malfoy," said Ginny.

Hermione half-smiled and looked at the floor. "Yeah. I am. Even though he promised he'd come back."

"He did?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know it's one of those promises you make that there's a chance you won't be able to keep. I'm worried about both of them. It's not really new; I'm just pretending it's like every other mission. They're going to come back. Draco might have another broken rib, or Harry might have a scratch finally, but they'll be okay. That's all I can do, that's how I'm dealing with this."

"Just another mission."

"It's been twenty-four days. We've made it this far. I – I really believe Harry can do this. He can. Harry can do this."

"What if something happens to Malfoy?" Ginny asked.

Hermione gave a strangled laugh. "Well, I suppose I'll be…" _Lost. _"I don't know, I can't even imagine. I've grown so much since I've known him, and finally let go of my parents' death. I owe him that. He's…" Her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears.

Ginny hugged her and rubbed her head. "You're in love with him. Aren't you?"

Hermione still couldn't say anything, so she only nodded and cried harder, and Ginny hugged her harder.

**o **

**Day Twenty-five**

**o**

"Draco?"

A heavy heart. "Yeah?"

"You okay."

A long pause. "Yeah."

"I – I'm sorry."

"Yeah." A heart-emptying sigh.

"So… want to… talk…"

A glare.

"Guess not. Uh, about yesterday."

"Yeah?"

"Do – do you love her?"

"Yeah." Draco was having trouble breathing. He was having trouble thinking. He suspected it might have something to do with the gnawing, festering hole in his heart that had been ripped open, against his wishes, against his better judgment. It had just happened, no warning. "I told _him_ that."

"Oh," said Harry.

"While I waited for you. We had a nice… short… _chat_."

"I don't guess you'd want to talk about it."

Draco chuckled. "No."

"But you'd talk to Hermione?"

"Maybe. If she asked."

"Which she would."

"Yeah."

"You gonna be okay?"

Another long pause. "Yeah."

**o **

**Day Twenty-Nine**

**o**

"Harry."

"Yeah?"

"This is it."

"I know."

They looked at each other and something passed between them silently – complete and utter confidence and a resolve, an acceptance, of what they had to do. Harry looks at the door they're standing outside of.

"Harry."

"Yeah."

"There's so much I wish I'd said," Draco said, sounding slightly desperate. "Why didn't I?"

"Draco, stop. You had your reasons."

"Yeah, I know, but now they don't seem very good. I should have told her everything."

"Remember the dangers to yourself if you had."

"Still. What was that compared to this? I should have told her."

"Stop. Stop thinking about it."

"So many things I wish I'd said."

"You'll get to. Just… don't die, okay?"

"Right. I'll work on that."

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"If I don't make it… tell her I'm sorry."

"Tell her you're _sorry_?"

"I – I promised her I'd come back."

"What?"

"It was the only way I could keep her from not coming with us."

"And you had no intention of keeping that promise?"

"Oh, I assure you, I really would prefer to remain alive through this… venture. But, things happen. You never know."

"Well… it looks like you've got a promise to keep. I won't have you letting Hermione down."

"Like I said, I fully intend to return alive and breathing. I'd… really prefer to tell her everything in person. I…" He smiled. "I'd really like for her to kiss me again."

Harry gaped at him. "Well, then we'd better make sure that happens."

**ooo**

"Ready Harry?"

"Ready, Draco."

**ooo**

"Hermione."

She looked at him warmly. "Hey, Ron."

"Something's happened. I can feel it."

A chill ran through Hermione's spine, and her smile faded. She put a hand in her robe pocket and felt the thick envelope from Draco. Nothing indicated any change.

"What do you mean, Ron?"

"I was sitting on Harry's broom today, my feet dangling in the water. A cold breeze blew, nearly knocking me off. Then a warm breeze blew, and it made me laugh. There was something so wonderful in that breeze. I looked into the water and it was a little brighter, it sparkled more brilliantly. I saw fish swimming very near the surface, more than I've ever seen before. I actually thought they were dancing."

Hermione frowned. "What do you think it means?"

"I don't dare say. But I'm hopeful."

"Thanks, Ron. For telling me. I hope you're right."

He nodded and went upstairs.

Hermione finished cleaning up after dinner. She took Draco's cloak and a book out onto the porch, but she didn't crack its pages. She stared absently at the bleak ocean; she distantly heard the constant roar of crashing waves.

It wasn't as if she were expecting something; she was just looking. She thought about what Ron had said and wondered what it meant. It had been almost poetic-- fish dancing.

As she stared into the depths of the night sky, her eyes slowly focused on something moving. Her brain kicked in, and she watched as something grew. She saw flapping wings – it was a bird, an owl. Hermione let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding. Just an owl.

It perched beside her and held out its leg. She removed the parchment, and sighed. It was another blank piece of parchment, sent from Harry and Draco. At least she knew they were still safe. She tossed the parchment on the seat beside her and was about to open her book when something caught her eye. There was something _on _the parchment. She snatched it up quickly and opened it.

In the very center of the small, square piece of parchment was a stamp. It read "St. Mungo's Hospital for the …" She blinked, and the gears starting to turn, and then to smoke.

She jumped up from her chair and ran into the house and up the stairs, yelling.

"Ron! Ginny! Wake up! Get up! Now! We have to go! Come on!"

She opened both Harry's and her door, still screaming. Ron and Ginny appeared at their respective doors, alarmed.

"What, Hermione?" said Ron, wide-eyed.

She shook the parchment in his face. "St. Mungo's. Let's _go _already." Ron and Ginny grabbed their cloaks and followed Hermione down the stairs, where they Disapparated.

When they arrived at St. Mungo's, Hermione went straight to the witch who told people where patients were located.

"Harry Potter," she rushed out.

The witch frowned. "Harry Potter? Let's see… hmm… family only. Seventh floor; restricted section." She looked up. "Any family here?"

"Ginny. She's his wife."

"Go on, then."

They followed Ginny to the lift which took them up to the seventh floor. When the doors opened, they saw a mass of people in the hallway – the entire Order, from the look of it.

They ran to the room where the central activity seemed to be. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were the only ones inside. Hermione glanced around the hall for Draco, but didn't expect to see him. Still, she was slightly sad. She figured he was in another room, incredibly beaten if his track record were anything to mention, but not dead. She knew he wasn't dead.

Ginny banged on the door. Molly looked up and saw the three of them peeking in. She opened the door and pulled them in.

"What happened?" asked Hermione. Harry was lying on the bed, asleep.

Arthur spoke. "We got an urgent owl about two hours ago to come here. Harry listed us as next of kin." Molly sniffled. "We arrived and learned that Harry had been brought here, and was hurt. We sent for a few members of the Order, and, well, everyone came."

"Is he okay?" asked Ginny, barely able to keep herself from turning hysterical.

"They think so, dear. He – he defeated V – Voldemort, and was hit with some sort of spell when the Dark Lord died. The Healers are still trying to figure out what it was."

"Voldemort's dead?" asked Ron.

"Yes, honey," said Molly, smiling through her tears.

Hermione's brain was spinning. Voldemort was dead; it was over. Everything was over. No more War, no more Voldemort.

_Malfoy_.

"How did Harry get here?" she asked. Ron and Ginny both looked at her, their faces grave and eyes wide.

Arthur frowned. "That part is odd. They told us _Draco Malfoy_ , of all people, brought him in. Walked right in to the lobby, carrying Harry. They said he was quite haggard-looking himself, clothes ripped and bleeding a bit, but he walked in and everyone stared. I wish I'd seen it. No one's seen either of them in months, and they show up at the hospital, together. Healers rushed to Harry and took him from Malfoy, who refused to leave Harry's side until he knew if Harry would be okay. Once they assured him Harry would recover, he allowed himself to be taken into custody."

Hermione couldn't breathe; she couldn't speak or think. Azkaban. And the number- one wanted man, as Voldemort was now dead.

"Oh, Hermione," said Ginny.

"It's okay," she told herself. "I'm going to help him."

Molly was obviously confused. "Help who?"

"I have to help Draco. It'll be the Kiss for him if I don't."

"Mum, relax, please," said Ron. "He's – okay. He helped Harry, I promise."

"But – Draco _Malfoy_," she said, extremely concerned and suspicious. Arthur frowned at them.

"Mum," said Ginny, "Why would he have brought Harry here if he weren't to be trusted? If he wanted to, he could have killed him. But he didn't."

"I don't know, kids," said Arthur, looking at Molly. "I admit it's strange, but – "

"I'm going now," said Hermione to Ron and Ginny. She moved toward the door.

"Take Charlie with you!" called Molly as the door closed behind her.

**ooo**


	31. A Summer Storm

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter. Not making money from this.

**Note:** Title for this chapter taken from "Wilder than Her" by Dar. _"She makes my life just a little less wild, and I'm wilder than her... She's a summer storm, and I'm a hurricane. One just blows through town. One blows the town away."_

Thanks to my beta - eilonwy - as always for tremendous amounts of help with this whole story. It's totally better because of her. :)

**ooo**

**Chapter 31 – A Summer Storm**

Draco Malfoy laughed. He had to. If he hadn't, he was sure he'd lose his mind. He was sitting in a cell in Azkaban, one of the heavily guarded ones. He'd been knocked around a bit by a couple of guards and his refusal to acknowledge being beaten only caused them to get angry and hit harder. He was used to far worse.

Now he was holding his bleeding nose and trying to breath without it hurting – another broken rib or two. Great. And he didn't think they'd be sending anyone in to heal them. Why should they? He was scheduled for the Dementor's Kiss the following day at noon. Why waste they magic?

He'd been given the sentence not ten minutes ago. And he'd laughed. Because if he didn't, he'd lose his mind.

In the ten minutes since learning of his fate, he'd decided it wasn't so bad. He would lose his soul, but then he'd feel nothing; be nothing. He'd basically be dead. He would no longer be Draco Malfoy. He figured it might hurt a bit, losing his soul, but then he figured it would hurt a bit losing his life, too. So for him, both options were equal in his mind. The Kiss, he decided, was worse for those left behind who might care about the person who received it than for the person himself. Death was final. Being a soulless zombie was terrifying. To others, of course; not to the zombie.

What really made him angry, in the end, was that _finally_ he cared. He had finally discovered what life was all about. He actually _wanted _to continue breathing and caring about breathing. He had accepted life, good and bad, and was looking forward to the ride. Draco laughed again at the irony.

Why hadn't he seen this coming? Considered this a possibility? He should have, but it never occurred to him that Harry wouldn't be able to vouch for him, to give those in charge their walk-in agreement, to do something, _anything. _Instead, Harry was unresponsive in the hospital and Draco's fate was less than sixteen hours away. Harry wouldn't wake up in time.

He thought of Hermione. His heart squeezed painfully as he realized he'd never see her again. He'd promised, and now he would have to break his word. Everything he needed to tell her, to say to her, would never be said. Harry couldn't tell her – the Vow would kill him before he could get two sentences out. And his will wouldn't open unless he died, unless his heart stopped beating.

He looked around his cell to see if there was anything he could use to end his life, so that at least he could keep _that _promise.

But they wouldn't want to give him a way out. He deserved the horrors awaiting him, and they would be certain he got what he deserved.

Thinking about Hermione made him sad, so sad he thought he would die from it. She had made him want to live, gave him something to live for; he'd fallen in _love_ with her. The real kind, the love that means you'd rather die than see your beloved hurt. Even if he never saw her again, he would think of her every day for the rest of his life.

When he was in Azkaban before, he'd told her that she owed her life to him, when in reality, _he _owed his life to _her. _Draco lay on the solid metal pallet and curled his knees up to his chest. He fought the urge to scream at the injustice, or cry out of frustration. His stubborn pride refused to allow him to cry or scream. So instead, he remained curled up on the pallet, angry, frustrated, sad, and for the second time in his life, lost.

He must have drifted into a fitful sleep, because out of nowhere, someone kicked him.

"Get up, Maggot."

He groaned at the pain in his chest and glared at the offender. "Sod off," he muttered.

The guard grinned and elbowed him in the stomach. Draco inhaled sharply, but refused to cry out.

"Get up, little Death Eater." He grabbed the collar of Draco's prison shirt and pulled him to his feet. Draco scowled deeper. "Want a black eye too? Maggot?"

"Don't you have some lollipops to steal from small children?" Draco spat.

The guard grinned again. "Every time you open your mouth you give me permission to hit you again, worm." He punctuated the last word with another blow to Draco's nose, further destroying it and sending pain shooting through Draco's skull.

The guard pushed him out the cell door and into the hallway. Draco scowled, holding his nose as he was led through the prison. He couldn't see where he was going because his eyes were watering from pain. If he had paid attention, he would have recognized where he was being led.

The guard stopped Draco in a hallway outside a nondescript door.

Draco sneered at the man. "We in for a little one on one? Do I get to hit you back?"

The guard returned the sneer. "Can't wait to see your pathetic face when you are unable to speak and all you can do is drool all over yourself." He then backhanded Draco, breaking the skin on his cheek.

The guard opened the door and shoved Draco through it. He stumbled, and didn't fall, but took a sharp intake of breath at the pain around his lungs.

"Draco!"

He blinked the water from his eyes and looked around, realizing he was in a visiting room.

His eyes slowly focused on two figures on the other side of the glass. One had red hair, but was taller than usual; Draco hadn't seen him before. The other was Hermione. He let out a gasp.

"Oh, Merlin, Draco! What's happened to you? Are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling as she fully assessed him.

He stumbled to the chair, trying to clear the fog in his brain; probably had a concussion, too. What was she doing here? He sat down hard, causing pain to shoot through him again. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let her see.

"I'm great," he muttered. "Never better."

"I know when you're lying, Malfoy. And the blood running down your face is a big clue. Plus you aren't taking deep breaths, which means something is wrong, probably more ribs. What's with you and ribs, anyway? Come close, let me heal you."

"No. I'm fine."

She rolled her eyes. "Malfoy. Now."

He reluctantly stood and walked up to the glass. "Just the ribs. Don't want them to know I've been healed."

"Who did this?"

"Uh, the guards."

"_They _hit you?"

"Who did you think?"

"Death Eaters, Voldemort, whoever was around you and Harry earlier."

At this, Charlie's interest was piqued beyond asking himself why in the world Hermione would heal the jerk.

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, them. No. For once, Harry was their focus. Bellatrix looked like she wanted to rip my lungs out, which is how they feel right now, but the Dark Lord wouldn't let her."

"What happened?" she asked quietly, and finally started healing his ribs.

He sucked in sharply as he felt the pressure on his lungs release. "They don't exactly like me, remember? I'm surprised I'm only this beat up. I'm most wanted: evil Death Eater, Malfoy, arrogant prat. Any of this sinking in at all? They don't _know _anything, do they? And the Dark Lord is dead, so they're not worried about retaliation for beating up his number one man!" he shouted. She flinched; he was _angry _at her! He couldn't believe he could be angry at the one person he didn't ever want to be angry at, the one person he would miss, even without a soul.

Hermione's lip started to tremble. He mustn't let her cry just because he was being a jerk.

"Hermione, I'm sorry. Don't, okay?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. You forget how everyone sees me." He glanced at Charlie, then back to her. "How's Harry? Anything?"

She shook her head and seemed to compose herself. "What about you? What's going to happen?"

Now he had to tell her. And he wished he didn't have to. He wanted more than anything to run away from her and not have to tell her his fate. He couldn't bear to see the look on her face. She must have guessed it, or seen it in his face. She put her hand to her mouth, a horrified look on her face.

"When?" she said, barely a whisper.

"Tomorrow. Noon."

She gasped. "So soon?"

He scoffed. "You know the Ministry. They like to make it look like they're _not _bumbling idiots. Want to make an _example _of me. Can't you see the headlines now? 'Dark Lord killed; top follower apprehended'. It's exactly what they want."

"It's ridiculous! You wouldn't even _be _here if you hadn't stayed at the hospital with Harry. You should be off on your island, drinking Mai Tais, getting sunburned by now." She closed her eyes, trying to take deep breaths. "Instead, you're stuck here, and, and…" When she opened them, Draco saw what made him so crazy about the girl. Denial, ferocity, and tenacity.

"No," she said, decidedly. "That won't happen."

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to do about it?" Draco could almost see the smoke coming out of her ears as her mind raced.

"Fix it." She turned to leave.

"Wait, Hermione, this could be the last time I see you." He hated to say it, but he just knew it was true.

"No, it's not."

Denial.

"Seriously, what can you really do? Nothing. You're one person against – well, everyone will be demanding it."

"But it's not right."

"You know it is," he said softly. "I'm guilty. That will never change."

Hermione walked back to him, a fiery, scary look in her eyes. "Listen to me, Draco Malfoy. You don't deserve it. I _will _stop it. That's for certain. You have no idea what I can do."

And he believed that he had no idea what she was capable of. But he still didn't believe she could stop this. His sentence had been set years ago.

"Hermione," he said calmly. "I understand you will try. But you will not succeed."

"Do _not _say that!"

He wanted to shake some sense into her. "Stop!" he shouted. "Just – stop, okay? I'm okay with this. I've accepted this. You need to too."

"You're wrong." She turned and walked away. "Come on, Charlie. I have work to do."

"Hermione!" Draco called.

She turned around and gave him a determined don't-mess-with-me look. "See you soon." And she left.

Draco wanted to wring her neck; then he wanted to bash his head in. He had a chance to tell her everything, and she was too stubborn to let him. He kicked the chair, he threw it against the wall – twice – and yelled at the top of his lungs in frustration. After about fifteen minutes, he called for the guard.

He was silent the whole way back to his cell. He'd messed up. He hadn't told her. When he was shoved back into his hole, he returned to the metal pallet and curled into a ball again. But he couldn't sleep. All he could think about was how she'd left. Without even a goodbye, just in case.

**ooo**

Charlie had to jog to keep up with Hermione. When he did catch her, he grabbed her arm and stopped her.

She spun around, eyes flashing.

"Hermione, am I correct in the impression that you are going to attempt to save Malfoy from the Kiss?"

"Yes. Only I _will _stop it, not just attempt to." She turned to continue on, but he still held her back.

"Why would you do that? He's mud. He's scum. He's not worth the air he's breathing."

"Charlie, I don't have time to explain my actions to you. I have to stop this. Trust me, I've not gone loony. If Harry were awake, he'd be right with me." She pulled free and he followed her to the front desk.

The guard looked up at her and yawned. "Help you, Miss Granger?"

"Yes. I would like to know who ordered the sentence for Draco Malfoy."

The guard frowned. "That Death Eater? The murderer?"

"Hermione gritted her teeth in annoyance. "Yes."

He went through a stack of papers until he found what he was looking for. "Interrogator by the name of Joseph Stephens."

"And where may I find him?"

"It's nearly one in the morning, Miss. He'll be at home asleep."

"And where would that be?"

"I don't know, and if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Why do you want him anyway?"

Hermione thought quickly. She bit her lip and put on a sad look. She even forced her eyes to water. "Draco Malfoy killed my parents," she stuttered.

"Oh, poor thing. He killed a lot of people, didn't he?"

Hermione only nodded.

"Well, I think he lives in Surrey, but that's all I know."

Hermione nodded again, letting one tear fall. "Thank you," she whispered, and took Charlie's hand to pull him after her.

When they were alone, she said, "I can't believe I used my parents' murder to get something I wanted."

When they reached the Ministry, Hermione went to the reception desk. She finagled parts of the address from three different unfortunate late-night employees. Just before Disapparating, Charlie again tried to stop her.

"Hermione, what exactly do you plan to do?"

"Talk to Mr. Stephens."

"Can't it wait until morning?"

"No," she said firmly.

"I'm not going to change your mind, am I?" Charlie asked with a sigh.

"No," she said again, smiling. "Come on."

**ooo**

They Apparated to the right street and walked through the stillness until they found the house, number 425. Hermione marched up the walk and rang the bell. After a few minutes, she rang again and started pounding on the door.

Charlie decided she'd gone mad. There was no other explanation. Harry being in the hospital, the War; all of it had made her crack.

Finally a light came on inside the house and Hermione stopped banging. An older man, somewhat reminiscent of a famous winter old man, opened the door looking quite angry. He was obviously surprised to see a bushy-haired young woman on his front stoop.

"What do you want?" he asked grumpily.

"I need to talk to you about a prisoner of yours, whom you sentenced today."

He stared at her incredulously. "It's nearly two in the morning! This surely could have waited until tomorrow, miss."

"No, it couldn't. You sentenced him to receive the Kiss tomorrow. There's no time to wait."

"Ah, the Malfoy boy? His charges were very serious, and his sentence final."

"Yes, Sir. Please, Sir. I wish to speak to you on his behalf."

"You want to _defend _him?"

"I cannot defend what's he's done, but I can tell you what I know."

The old man seemed to think about it, eyeing Hermione and Charlie skeptically.

"Please, Sir. Give me half an hour of your time. I think I'll be able to show you sufficient reason not to deliver the sentence. It's the right thing to do. It would be wrong to continue."

"That is a serious charge, Miss – " he paused, waiting for her.

"Hermione Granger," she said, extending her hand. "And this is Charlie Weasley."

"Granger?" The man said. "_The _Hermione Granger?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"Harry Potter's friend?"

"That's me."

"Well, Miss Granger, I'll give you half an hour of my time. Please come in."

Hermione actually told the short version of the story in ten minutes. Stephens asked a lot of questions, however, and she and Charlie were there for over an hour.

"So, Miss Granger, to summarize all that you've told me, Mr. Malfoy has been working with Harry Potter for nine months to defeat You-Know-Who, and you've been helping them." Hermione nodded. "And Mr. Malfoy is a changed man who has risked his life for Mr. Potter on numerous occasions, and has thereby shown that he does not deserve the Kiss." She nodded again.

"But Miss Granger, he is still guilty of many crimes, crimes which happen to come with a lifetime sentence in Azkaban. And if one commits too many of them, it's the Kiss. Has he ever shown any remorse?"

"He told me more than once that he was sorry for killing my parents."

Stephens was surprised; he hadn't known that important detail. He nodded slowly. "You truly believe he's a changed man."

"I would bet a library on it."

Charlie chuckled. "That's everything to her," he offered.

"And what do you expect the outcome to be? That your friend will go free? That is not likely to happen, you should know that. Even if I remove the Kiss sentence, he's still looking at life in prison."

"One step at a time. We'll deal with that when we need to. Right now, I have to convince you it's wrong to take his soul."

The old man smiled. "Does Mr. Malfoy know he's got such a fierce friend fighting for him?"

"He should. I told him I would fix this, but he didn't believe me."

"Indeed? And what do you suggest I do, exactly?"

"Talk to him, Mr. Stephens. Veritaserum. I know he'll agree to take it. That will work."

He sighed. "Well, Miss Granger, I'm going to need some time to think." He stood.

Hermione remained seated. "But Sir, there is no time. Less than ten hours from now. I'm afraid I can't leave until I have something more than that."

Stephens grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Miss Granger, you are lucky I am so patient. Okay, I will see him first thing in the morning, and I will give him the truth serum."

"When is 'first thing'?"

"Hermione," warned Charlie.

"It's all right, Mr. Weasley. She reminds me of my wife – and I love my wife. Seven in the morning. Is that early enough?"

"Oh, thank you!" she said, grinning madly. "Thank you, Sir. I'm so happy! I know you're doing the right thing."

"We'll see. Now scat – I need to get _some _sleep before tomorrow."

"Of course, thank you!" Hermione and Charlie left and returned to the hospital. Everyone was asleep, but Ginny had remained outside Harry's room to wait for Hermione. Charlie then left then both and returned to the Burrow.

Ginny stirred when she heard Hermione walk down the hall. Hermione peered into Harry's room; he looked the same.

"Hey," said Ginny, sleepily.

"Oh, Ginny! I didn't know you were awake." She sat down next to her friend.

"Did you see him?"

Hermione nodded, exhaustion, fear, and worry slamming into her stomach all at once. They'd finally caught up with her though she'd tried to outrun them.

"Is he – okay?"

She shook her head, feeling hot tears spring into her eyes.

"Oh, Hermione, what is it?"

"Th – the Kiss," she managed to stutter before falling into tired, silent sobs.

**ooo**

"Get _up, _Maggot!"

Draco was ripped from sleep by a sharp pain in his side. He felt his ribs crack again. He growled, opening his eyes to glare at the ground. Surely he'd only been asleep a few minutes.

"I said, get up!" The guard went to hit him again, but Draco was sick and tired of being hit, so he stopped the man's fist and held it frozen in front of him. The guard's eyes widened in surprise, and Draco sat up on the slab.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now," the man sneered.

"Why? I've done nothing," said Draco, releasing the man's fist.

He grinned maliciously. "That doesn't matter, you should know that. Now get up; you're to see an Interrogator."

Draco's brain kicked in. An Interrogator? Why? He'd seen one already. The guard shoved him out of the cell roughly and elbowed him in the stomach. Despite his resolve to remain silent, being beat so soon after waking was more than his foggy brain could handle. He let out a small groan, which made the guard smirk in triumph.

"Now _move_." The guard again led Draco through the prison to an interrogation room. He opened the door and pushed Draco through. It was all Draco could do not to spit vile things at the man. If he hadn't sworn not to kill again, he would likely have beaten the man to death with his bare hands.

When Draco turned around, he saw an old man sitting at the table. Draco recognized him as the man who'd sentenced him to the Dementor's Kiss the day before.

The man stood and held out a hand. "Joseph Stephens. We met yesterday."

Draco eyed the hand it warily and then cautiously shook it, saying nothing.

"And you are Draco Malfoy." Well, no kidding. The man looked him over, a pleasant glint in his eyes. It almost made Draco scowl further. "You have a small fan club, Mr. Malfoy. And she makes a lot of noise."

Realization struck him. Granger. He groaned and sat across from the man heavily. Now what had she done?

"What about her?" he asked.

The man chuckled. "She came to my house last night at nearly two in the morning." Draco's eyes widened. "And she convinced me to see you today."

Draco shook his head. "I'm sorry. She's very impulsive and headstrong."

"Ah, yes. So I gathered. Well, I am here. Miss Granger told me a very interesting story that I wish to talk about with you. I believe she desires your ultimate release, but I think we both know that's not very likely."

Draco nodded.

"Good. Her primary aim is a removal of the sentence I awarded yesterday." He reached into a folder and removed a few sheets of parchment. "This is a list of questions I wish to ask. I will give you the truth serum. Please read through them; if there are any questions you would not like to answer, let me know, and I will leave you to ponder your fate." He handed Draco the list.

Draco was careful not to break eye contact with the Judge. He did not look at the questions put before him. "I'll answer them," he said.

Stephens looked at him skeptically. "Not even a glance?"

"I know what I've done. Let's get this over with."

The Interrogator nodded and took back the stack of questions. He pulled out a vial of clear liquid and poured four drops into a cup of water sitting on the table. "Everything we discuss is between us. Drink up."

**ooo**

The Interrogator questioned Draco for over two hours. He asked about Draco's childhood, his parents, Death Eaters, his activities for the Dark Lord, what led to his change of heart. Though Draco couldn't fight the truth serum, he still resisted telling him what happened the night he went to Hermione's house. But he had no choice, and so a third person learned the secrets he kept from Hermione. Then he moved to Draco's actions over the last two years; what he and Harry did; how Hermione was involved; what happened the day before when Voldemort was destroyed. He asked for his emotions, his feelings, for everything. He asked about remorse.

Finally Draco was brought out of the effect of the serum. He smiled warmly at him. "So, do you love her?"

Draco froze. "What?"

"Miss Granger."

Draco blinked, his heart racing. "Uhm, well, I – uh – don't know how to answer you."

"It's a yes or no question, Mr. Malfoy. One or the other will do."

He ran a hand through his golden hair. "The thing is, Sir, having never discussed this with… her, I am hesitant to answer you now. It seems as though she should hear it before… well, anyone." He looked at the old man who appeared to be waiting for his answer. "I honestly can't say. I think so – no, I _do_ – but at the same time, I don't trust myself with feeling or – the L word. It's completely foreign to me."

"I see. Do you intend to tell her? Along with all of the other things you must tell her?"

Draco shifted uneasily. "I suppose it depends on how she handles the other information."

"I do hope you didn't mind me asking you that very personal question about Miss Granger. I needed to gauge how willing you are to tell me the truth now that you're out from under the effects of the Serum."

Draco nodded once. "I… hope my answer was satisfactory."

The man smiled, and stood. "It was. Well, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you. I am glad Miss Granger came to me. I value justice, honor, and love very highly. It would be wrong, in my judgment, to enforce my sentence. I will stay the Kiss, pending a conversation with Mr. Potter."

Draco blinked. "Sorry?"

"No punishment for you – yet. If Mr. Potter can corroborate your story, and show me good reason not to resume my sentence, I will delete it. But I'm afraid life in Azkaban is the only fitting punishment."

Draco nodded, thinking it wouldn't be a long life, considering the way he'd been treated by the guards.

"Well, thank you, Sir."

Stephens studied Draco's face. "How are you being treated? You look awful. Blood nose, long cut along your cheek – anything you want to tell me?"

Draco didn't actually think the old man would listen or help – more likely he'd make things worse. "No, Sir," he said. Stephens looked unconvinced. "Believe me. What they've done to me would only be considered a warm-up to my father."

He nodded in understanding. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, would you like to see your fan club?"

"She's here?"

"Oh, certainly. Probably just to make sure I kept my word," he said, smiling.

"There will be no living with her now."

"Why do you say that?"

"She told me she would get this done, and I told her she would not."

The man chuckled. "She is something else, that one. Never underestimate a woman with a purpose."

"You have no idea. Yes, I'll see her."

Stephens opened the door and started to walk out when he stopped and turned back to Draco. "Oh, by the way, Mr. Malfoy. I did ask you that question under the Serum. He paused, a twinkle in his eye. "You said yes." Then, with a twinkle of his eye, he shut the door behind him.

Draco chuckled.

Nearly two seconds later the door burst open again and something brown ran in and nearly tackled him. Hermione flung her arms around his neck and hugged him fiercely, causing Draco to wince in pain. He pushed her off him, clutching his side.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Not again!"

He shrugged. Then he noticed she'd not come alone. "Hi, Ron."

"Malfoy."

Hermione sighed heavily. "Let me fix them again. When did this happen?"

"It was my wake-up call."

"It's really awful the way they treat prisoners here. Honestly, you would think there would be _some _kind of rule against that."

"I think even if there were, they would make a special exception for me. Ow."

"Sorry." She finished healing Draco's ribs, again, and stepped back. "How's that?"

Draco took a deep breath. "Great. Thanks."

Hermione started grinning wildly. "I told you so."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, congratulations," he said sarcastically. "Your unparalleled pestering and nagging got you what you wanted, yet again."

She pouted. "What, no, 'thank you, Hermione, for saving my life'?"

He looked intently into her eyes. "Thank you, Hermione."

The tone of his voice caused her heart to skip a beat, then start pounding.

Draco looked at Ron. "Anything new with Harry?"

He shook his head. "They think he'll wake up soon. He's starting to come around; you know, responding to things."

"Stimuli, Ron," said Hermione.

"Whatever. Things."

Draco smiled. "Good."

The door opened then, and the guard came in the room and looked at Ron and Hermione. Draco's smile was instantly replaced by a scowl; the guard kept his gaze on Hermione too long. Draco stepped between them and faced the man.

The guard sneered at Draco, then pulled out a stick. "Move, Maggot," he spat in Draco's face. Draco glared at him, but said nothing.

He turned around to Hermione. "Later."

She nodded, afraid of what the man would do to Draco.

Once alone in the corridor, the guard pushed Draco with the stick, digging it into the small of his back where his kidneys were, causing a dull pain. Draco clenched his teeth but said nothing.

"That your girlfriend?"

Draco tensed, and the guard saw it. "She's real pretty. Think she'd like a tour of the prison?"

Draco refused to be baited. He spent his efforts imagining all the ways he would cause the man pain if he were able. And he had quite an assortment from which to choose. When the guard stopped him, Draco saw they were in a new part of the prison he hadn't been in before. The torture rooms, he guessed.

The guard opened the door and pushed Draco in, then slammed the door shut. Draco looked around. It was another cell, only it was very slightly nicer than his old one. But only very slightly. Draco sighed and sat on the slab, running a hand through his hair. He needed sleep. Two hours of grueling questions that he didn't even remember had tired him, plus he'd had very little sleep the night before which had been constantly interrupted by shooting pain.

There was a knock on the door, then it opened, admitting a small, older witch, who was obviously frightened out of her wits. She hesitated before closing the door, knowing it would just be the two of them.

She looked at Draco, fear emanating from every fiber of her. It seemed she'd been rendered mute.

Draco sighed. "Can I help you?"

"I – I'm here to – to – " She pointed at his face.

"What?"

"Uhm, your nose."

"Oh. Lovely." The nurse didn't move. "I won't hurt you, if that's your problem. Can't. You should know that if you work here."

"Yes. But – you're – "

"Please, just fix my nose and go." She stood rooted to the spot. Draco rolled his eyes and stood, waking one step toward her.

She held her wand out in his face. "Stop! Right there!"

"Are you going to fix it or not?" he asked, getting annoyed.

"Yes. Just – sit, okay?"

"Fine." He sat back down and the nurse edge over to him. He sat on his hands to further show the woman he intended her no harm. The nurse finally reached him and examined his nose. She wasn't at all kind and gentle, like Hermione, and he had to bite his lip at the pain.

"Broken," she announced.

"You think?" he muttered, scowling.

She glared at him and pointed her wand at his nose. She muttered a spell and Draco felt the bone and cartilage snap back into place. "There." She turned to go.

"Hey, wait. What about this cut?" he asked, pointing to his cheek.

"Just the nose," she said, her eyes mocking him.

"Fine. Go," he growled. The nurse's eyes lost their laughter and turned to fear. She scurried out the door.

Draco felt his nose to see that it was returned to its usual form. He'd need a mirror to be sure. He sighed. He knew now what his life would be like if he were released. That nurse acted like they would all act. Afraid, spiteful, and hateful, and there would be nothing he could say in his defense. He fell into a troubled sleep.

**ooo**

**A/N:** Hope you liked it! Happy Friday!


	32. In The Wells of Silence

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter... I'm only going to say that three more times :) 

**Note:** Thanks to my beta, eilonwy, for all your wonderful help on this chapter! The title comes from "The Sound of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel.

**ooo**

**Chapter 32 – In the Wells of Silence **

For the third day in a row, Hermione woke up at St. Mungo's, not knowing immediately where she was. She and the entire Weasley family had been given rooms to stay in that had been redecorated to look more like hotel suites than hospital rooms. Harry had the entire floor to himself.

She didn't really want to wake up, not just yet. Since getting the Judge to see Draco and staying his sentence, there was nothing to do but wait for Harry to wake up. The Healers had concluded that the spell he'd been hit with wasn't fatal, or especially malicious; it was simply taking its time running its course.

The entire wizarding world was in a state of hushed excitement. There had been great excitement when the news had been spread that Voldemort had been defeated. Fireworks were set off throughout London, despite the Muggles, and Diagon Alley had been a continuous party, with every shop owner contributing something. Fred and George took turns at their shop, having closed the branch in Hogsmeade for the time being.

Yet everyone was still waiting, still glued to the wireless, still snatching the paper each morning when it was delivered. Waiting for news about Harry.

Ginny hadn't left his room except under extreme need and had refused to stay with her family down the hall. She had a bed set up next to his and held his hand all day, talking softly to him. Her parents had been shocked, to say the least, when Ginny informed them that she and Harry were married. Molly burst into tears when it finally sank in, hugged her daughter, and demanded that she be allowed to throw an enormous party for them. Ron and Hermione spent most of their time together, both worried about Harry and Hermione thinking constantly about Draco.

The rest of the Weasleys took shifts in staying at the hospital during the day, though Molly was a constant presence. Harry would have wanted it that way; Molly was the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had. Hundreds of people stopped by every day, bringing gifts and wishing Harry well. Ron and Hermione had had to make up a list of people who were allowed to visit Harry.

Once Harry woke up, for no one wanted to think about the alternative, the real festivities would begin. All of magical London wanted to honor him with awards, special recognitions, and even a parade right through Diagon Alley. He would be bombarded with requests for interviews, parties, and whatever people could think up as some reason to get Harry Potter's name next to their own.

Hermione knew he would hate it.

The Dark side had quickly fallen apart after Voldemort's demise. Unlike when he'd simply been stripped from his body, there was no doubt this time that he was truly dead. Hermione had worked for months on a plan for the Ministry to put into action that would enable them to round up the remaining Death Eaters, but a few of them made the task a little bit easier.

Only a few hours after Voldemort's fall, the remaining inner circle of Death Eaters decided that they wanted to continue what their Lord had started. They talked of plans, schemes, and a way to bring themselves to light as a dangerous force and something to be feared, something to make people forget about Voldemort. They talked for hours about how they would make this happen, but then someone asked who would be their leader. Each looked at the others with suspicion, and quickly the whole lot turned on one another. Accusations of disloyalty were cast, fingers pointed, blame placed. The confrontation escalated, and when the smoke settled, only one man remained standing. Gregory Goyle's father. Even Bellatrix had succumbed to the deluge of mortal spells.

Goyle senior then took all of the plans they'd made and left the hideout, but was apprehended within the hour. Hermione and Ron laughed for a very long time when they read the article. Goyle was forced to lead the Aurors back to where the coup had taken place. Among the dead were Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan LeStrange, and Crabbe senior.

"Hold on," Hermione had said, tearing through the pages of the newspaper once more, looking for something.

"What is it?" Ron had asked, looking slightly concerned.

"Snape. There's nothing at all about _him._ Surely he would have been in Voldemort's inner circle. But…" she frowned as she neared the end of the articles about the Death Eaters. "Not a word."

She and Ron had exchanged a look. Of all the Death Eaters, he was the one Harry would most want to know about. Hermione thought back and realized that she hadn't heard a single thing about Snape, save a cursory mention here and there, since the beginning of the War. True, very few of the Death Eaters sought the spotlight – only Lucius on a few occasions – but now, at the end of all things, _surely _there would be word on Snape.

Explaining things to the Order had been…interesting, to say the least. After Hermione had returned from seeing Draco in Azkaban, Arthur had pulled her aside and demanded, very nicely but sternly, to know what had happened. She'd sighed and suggested she tell everyone all at once to avoid having to repeat herself. He'd agreed and within the hour, the entire Order was gathered in one of the rooms on Harry's floor.

Hermione started from the beginning, with Draco turning himself in to the Ministry and asking to speak to Harry. She was interrupted several times and had to demand that no one interrupt again while she spoke. At the end, she'd take questions.

She told them that Harry had asked her to witness an Unbreakable Vow between himself and Draco, and that she had no idea what they talked about. She only knew that afterwards, Harry trusted Draco completely. As part of their bargain, Draco was sent to Azkaban for a month, and she met with him regularly in order to obtain the information he had promised on all the Death Eaters whose existence he knew about, and ultimately, Voldemort. In exchange, he was promised a full pardon for all the crimes he'd committed. Draco communicated with Harry about his plan to defeat Voldemort, through a code he'd imbedded in the information Hermione collected.

After a month, Draco was released, and Harry took her to meet him. Hermione briefly mentioned the house. Harry and Draco had struck a deal where Draco would train Harry to fight Voldemort, and then help him find and finally confront the evil wizard. They had asked Hermione to join them in order to complete a secondary mission: the Death Eaters. She then explained her task, and discussed the other things she did for them, including training at St. Mungo's in healing.

Harry and Draco started going on missions—to do what, she didn't know—but sometimes Draco would come back injured. She would heal him, and send them off again. Then, a little over a month before, they'd left for the final stage in their plan: to hunt for the last Horcrux and destroy it, and then face Voldemort. Ron and Ginny had stayed with her while the men were gone. Then they'd received an Owl with the hospital's logo on it and had been there ever since.

When she finally finished speaking, everyone in the room was staring at her, most disbelieving, some open-mouthed. The silence lasted less than a minute before everyone started speaking at once. Most of their questions were about Draco, and she answered as best she could. The last question came from Fred Weasley.

"What made Harry trust him?"

Hermione gave him a half-smile and sighed. "I honestly don't know, Fred. Whatever they discussed is between them. I – Draco has told me he will tell me, but he hasn't yet. Harry can't, or he'll die."

"So…Harry just…believed him?" George asked. "_Malfoy_?"

"Yes."

Silence filled the room like a thick smoke and Hermione felt suffocated by it. The one question they wanted so desperately to know, the thing that would make them understand, she herself didn't know. And more than that, _she _desperately wanted to know it too.

**ooo**

Hermione was about to try and fall back asleep when the door to her room was thrown wide, slamming into the wall. She bolted up and turned to find Ron standing in the doorway with the goofiest grin on his face she'd ever seen.

"What is your problem, Ron? I was – "

"Harry's awake."

OH. _OH! _

Hermione jumped up and followed Ron, running down the hall to Harry's room. He was sitting up in his bed, Ginny sitting beside him. Hermione was surprised to see a slightly worried expression on his face.

"Harry!" she cried, and ran to give him a hug.

"Hey, Hermione," he said in a calm voice, holding her tight.

"How long have you been up?" she asked Harry as she pulled out of the hug. Ron was standing opposite her on Harry's other side.

Ginny jumped in. "An _hour, _he said. But he only woke me a few minutes ago."

"I couldn't help it," Harry said, smiling adoringly at her. "You looked so… at peace. I wanted to remember that for the rest of my life." Ginny cuddled impossibly closer to him and he kissed the top of her head.

Then the worry returned to Harry's face. "Hermione," he said, "Where's Draco?"

"Azkaban," said Hermione. Harry's eyed widened. "Harry, relax. It's okay."

"But they'll kill him! Or worse!"

"No," said Ginny, grinning. "Hermione's been very busy."

Harry looked at Hermione, who said, "He was arrested, and sentenced to the Kiss, only I… managed to get that sentence suspended. He still needs your help, but it's not urgent. I'll send for the Interrogator to come talk to you."

Harry shook his head and sat up. "No, you don't understand. _He saved my life_." Hermione's eyes widened. "That… curse I was hit with when Voldemort died. It should have killed me, but Draco… he did _something_, and the curse split in two. Half of it hit me, and the other half… did it hit him? Is he okay?" Harry's voice was panicked and Ginny was trying to soothe him.

"Harry, he's fine," Hermione said quickly. "He had a few scrapes and cuts, but he said nothing about being hit with a curse."

"You saw him?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I did. Now will you please calm down?"

Harry sank back into his bed, the worry mostly gone. Ginny looked at Hermione and started to say something, but the door burst open, admitting a stream of redheaded persons and finally a Healer.

"Hermione!" Harry called out over the noise. Everyone quieted. "Hermione, in the desk in my room, there's a white envelope. I need it."

"Okay. I'll go now. Then I'll call for the Interrogator."

Harry nodded, looking relieved, and turned to answer the Healer and the Weasleys.

Hermione made her way down to the Apparation point and with a smile, concentrated on the little house she'd come to think of as home. Once inside, she went to Harry's room to retrieve the envelope. As she was leaving, she glanced in Draco's room, not really sure why she did it. Maybe there would be a half-finished book she could take to him.

She smiled as she looked around the room; it was in perfect order, On the table beside his bed, she saw just what she had hoped to find: a book. She hesitated for a moment, a rush of fear running through her at what he would say if he caught her, then marched to the night table and picked up the book. A piece of paper was sticking out at an odd angle and she frowned at it, puzzled. She realized it was probably the only thing out of place in the whole room. Hermione opened the book and took note of the page number, in case she accidentally lost it. Then she looked at the piece of paper. It was the note she'd left on her door for him one night when she'd been angry with him.

_Bugger off, Malfoy._

With a twist of longing in her heart, she replaced the note in the book and sighed. She wasn't ready to quit the room, wanting to remain surrounded by things that were _him_ for as long as she could.

A harsh thought occurred to her and she sat down heavily on his bed. _She missed him_. But what was going to happen? What if he got out? What if he didn't? Would there ever be anything between them? She knew, or at least she thought she knew, that there was _something _there, evidenced by their kiss. But it was Draco Malfoy. It could have been nothing to him. She was struck by how little she thought she knew him. Maybe he just hadn't been kissed in a long time and that was all it was.

Draco meant a great deal to her, and she didn't want to lose him. Not that she 'had' him, but the idea of him riding off into the sunset was frighteningly plausible. And what could _she _offer _him_? She'd only hold him down, and she felt certain he wouldn't accept it. He would fly.

Hermione lay down on his bed, and was hit with a strong smell – _his _smell. It was in his sheets, his pillow. She'd awoken to that smell for so many months that it wrenched her heart again and filled her head and brain and heart with him. And then she cried. She cried because after all that had happened, all she'd been though, with him, she was scared she would lose him. And she didn't want to; she wanted a second chance. And it hurt.

She must have fallen asleep, because when she opened her eyes, the shadows were longer. She jumped up, grabbed the envelope, and returned to the hospital

When she arrived in Harry's room, everyone started talking at once.

"Are you okay?"

"What happened?"

"It's been hours!"

"Is it Malfoy?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm sorry, I fell asleep. Here, Harry," she said, handing him the envelope. "I'll call for the Interrogator now."

He came to the hospital right away and talked to Harry for nearly as long as he'd talked with Draco. After Harry told him the same story Draco had, minus the part about that hour in his office, he pulled out the white envelope.

"Sir, Draco is sorry for what he did. And he deserves to pay his debt to society. But he's also done more for the whole world than just about anyone. More than me, that's for sure. It was his plan, his knowledge of Voldemort, his initiative and drive that led him to seek me out and enlist me to bring Voldemort down. He gave the world the fight of peace, or freedom from fear. Surely that can cancel out the wrongs he did.

Stephens smiled. "That is a good argument, Mr. Potter. But You-Know-Who would have been defeated, eventually."

"Maybe so, Sir, but when? Five years? Ten years? He was nearly unstoppable before. And maybe he _wouldn't_ have been defeated. I have lived with the knowledge that I might, for whatever reason, be the only one to stop him for long enough to have imagined what would happen if I failed. And that vision was growing more and more real. So when Draco offered me a shot, I jumped on it. Because Voldemort had to be defeated. The world would have been crushed by him. And the sooner it was done, the fewer lives would be ruined. The Death Eaters were making gains every day. Draco saved far more people than he killed, probably more than he's ever wronged."

"You seem as adamant, if not more so, than Miss Granger."

"She didn't spend every day with him. She didn't put her life in his hands and have to trust that she'd still be alive at the end of it. _I did_. I watched as countless times he took shots, spells, punches, torture for me, so I could keep fighting, so I'd have just a little more time. He was beaten to a bloody pulp numerous times so that I wouldn't get a scratch. It's because of _him _that the world is free from Voldemort. I just shot the winning goal."

The Interrogator thought hard about everything Harry said. They were good points, well thought out and argued. "But Mr. Potter, it comes back to the fact that I would be setting him free."

Harry pulled a piece of parchment from the white envelope. "It's the right thing, Sir. Look at this," he said, handing the parchment to him.

Stephens looked over the document in disbelief. "Full pardon?"

"For the Unforgiveable crimes listed there."

"You made a deal with Mr. Malfoy in July wherein he promised you Voldemort in return for a full pardon?"

"Yes."

"Surely you didn't have the authority to make such a deal."

"Alastor Moody signed it."

Stephens' eyes glanced at the bottom of the page, where he indeed saw the old Auror's signature.

"Full pardon."

"It's a binding magical contract. He fulfilled his half; now it's our turn."

"There is no mention of a cessation of hostility from him. What makes you think he didn't do all this in order to replace Voldemort?"

Harry was stunned. That thought had never occurred to him. But he didn't spend any time thinking about it now. "Malfoy was near to death on more than one occasion. He would have given his life to our cause. Someone like that wouldn't plot to secretly rise to power once it was all said and done."

"You must understand me. I would be held responsible if he were to suddenly have another change of heart."

"Then I give you _my word _that he is a changed man."

"One tiny infraction of the law and he'll be right back where he is now."

"Just give him a chance. He'll agree to whatever terms you impose."

The older man sighed heavily. "I have much to think about. Thank you, Mr. Potter."

"Of course. Oh, and one more thing, Sir," Harry said.

"Hmm?"

"He saved my life. I had Hermione look it up for me. It's a very difficult, Dark piece of magic – the _Bifidus _countercurse. When Voldemort died, something from inside of him shot toward me. Draco must have anticipated it, because he cast the _Bifidus_, splitting whatever spell had been directed at me into two parts. One part still hit me, but the other must have missed Draco and hit something inanimate. I'm nearly certain that had the full curse from Voldemort hit me, I would have died."

Very slowly the Interrogator nodded. "I see. So he cast a Dark spell to save your life."

Harry caught the way the Stephens had said Dark. "Yes. No one was injured by it, nothing bad happened because of it. Since knowing him, I've learned that Dark magic isn't always wrong in and of itself. Of all things, don't hold _that _against him. Please."

Stephens sighed. "Yes, yes, of course. Well, you should have my answer by the weekend."

"Thank you."

Stephens nodded and left the room.

**ooo**

The Daily Prophet had put out a special edition as soon as they'd found out that Harry was okay. He'd refused all attempts by their staff, or anyone else, to get an interview with him.

He spent the entire day with Hermione and the Weasleys, especially Ginny. A few of the Order – Remus, Tonks, Shacklebolt, Moody – and McGonagall and Hagrid were admitted as well, and the hospital had provided them with a glorious feast for the evening meal, complete with a three-course pudding.

The next day, however, Harry demanded to be allowed to leave the hospital. All the Healers wanted to keep him for observation, as they had never really discovered what Harry had been hit with. But he refused.

"I have something very important to do," he told the Healers, and everyone else who was trying to convince him to stay inside in the peace and quiet for just one more day before he had to face the world.

To which Harry replied, "And Draco has to sit in Azkaban?"

Hermione, Ron and Ginny looked at each other, all knowing full well that when Harry had _that _particular look on his face, there was no convincing him otherwise.

Harry didn't wait for an answer from the Healers. He marched out of the room. Hermione was so in shock that it took her a few seconds to process that Harry was actually _going _to Azkaban. To see Draco. She jumped out of her seat and hurried to catch up with him.

"What took you so long?" Harry asked when they reached the lift.

"I—I didn't—"

"It's okay. I'm glad you're coming. I knew you'd probably want to see him, and I don't think I can do this alone."

"Do what, Harry?" she asked, just as the lift slowed to the ground level.

The doors slid open. "_This_," he said.

The entire lobby was packed with people. As soon as the crowd took full notice of who had just arrived, they started shoving each other to get to the front. And cameras were going off like fireworks, people shouting to be heard.

"I don't have time for this," Harry mumbled, pulling out his wand. He shot a large spark into the air that exploded with a bang. Everything hushed. "Listen up. I need to get to the Apparation point. I have someone to go see, and I'm not taking questions at this time. I do, however, think it's important that you know whom I'm going to see.

"I'm going to Azkaban, to visit a very good friend of mine, someone who not only helped me defeat Voldemort, but also saved my life on more than one occasion. Draco Malfoy – "

The crowd went ballistic and everyone started talking at once, drowning out Harry's next words. Harry sent up another exploding spark and again everyone quieted. "As I was saying, I'm going to see Draco _Malfoy_. I expect you'll be hearing all about him very soon and everything he has done for the wizarding world. For now, it is enough that you know that he is my friend, and I will do everything I can do see him released. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need a path, please."

The crowd parted, whispers among the people so loud they sounded like pieces of sandpaper being rubbed together. Cameras flashed nearly nonstop until they reached the Apparation point. Then Harry turned around and the whispers stopped.

"A lovely day to you all. See you at the Ministry, I suspect."

With that, Harry linked arms with Hermione and Disapparated them both.

**ooo**

A loud banging woke Draco from a fitful sleep.

"Maggot! Get up! Visitors!"

Draco slowly sat up, his back aching from sleeping on the hard metal. He rubbed his eyes and watched warily as the door opened. He hadn't been touched since the Interrogator had him moved, but he still didn't trust any of the guards. If he did one thing out of line, they could beat him and say he'd provoked them.

The large guard entered the room and sneered. "Get _up_."

"I'm up," said Draco, standing to his full height.

"Come on. Visitors."

Draco didn't reply, only shuffled along in front of the guard, who poked him harder than was necessary whenever they had to make a turn. Finally, they reached a room Draco didn't recognize, where a stuffy-looking man stood waiting for them.

"Thank you," he said in a nasal tone, and the guard left. "This way, Mr. Malfoy," he said, indicating a small room that looked very much like the Apparation station by which he'd arrived. He looked at the unknown man, puzzled. "Just get in, please."

He had no choice but to comply. Soon he arrived in a similar station, and another person, this time a nervous-looking witch, was waiting for him. "Mr. Malfoy, please step down and follow me," she said.

Shaking his head, not bothering to be frustrated about not being told what was happening, and followed. Eventually, they stopped outside a nondescript door. "You are to knock three times when you are finished."

"Okay," he said, shaking his head.

The witch looked at him hard for a second, then opened the door and indicated he should enter. He sighed and went in.

The first thing Draco saw was Harry. His broke into the biggest smile he could ever remember smiling and it took all of his restraint not to rush him. Harry was grinning too.

"Malfoy," he said with a nod.

"Potter. Good to see that you're… okay."

"You too. You got a shiner, though," Harry said, pointing.

"Yeah. Guards don't much like me."

"Well, have a seat," Harry said, indicating one of the chairs. Then Draco noticed the large, wooden table in the room, with three cushioned chairs set around it. The rest of the room was done in deep, rich colors of gold and blue. Not exactly standard prison issue.

Draco sat. "Where are we?"

"Oh, we're at the Ministry. There's an entire slew of reporters outside." Draco's eyes widened and he looked instinctively toward the door behind him that would lead to his escape. Harry laughed. "Relax, I'm not going to let them in. I… had to make a bit of a show coming to see you."

"You _had _to."

"I figured people had to get used to the idea, and the sooner the better."

"Without talking to me."

"Oh, right, sorry I forgot to mention it yesterday at tea," Harry said sarcastically. "I haven't exactly had the chance to, you know."

"I know. It's okay."

Harry shook his head. "You're still the same, aren't you?"

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Did you expect me to be otherwise?"

"No, no, not at all. I just – I feel so much different now. Lighter. I thought some of that might show through in you too."

"I see. No, I don't believe so."

"No?" Harry asked, frowning. "Not even a little bit? I mean, I know you're in prison…"

"Yeah. That doesn't help." Draco sighed and ran a hand through his too-long hair; he needed a cut. "Look, Potter. You – you've just destroyed your long-time nemesis, defeated the evil in the world. Your life is all up from here. Me…" he trailed off. He'd lost his father, was in prison with only a small hope he'd get out, and even if he did, he'd forever be looking over his shoulder, either for a former Death Eater to come looking for revenge or an angry mother whose child he'd killed.

"Yeah, well, you should still be feeling something good, despite all that right? I mean… Hermione…"

"Potter, how's Ginny?" Draco asked in a no nonsense tone. He wasn't ready to entertain such thoughts, about what was possible now. He was still in prison; no point, really.

Harry took the hint. "She's good, really good."

"I'm glad. No… problems, then? Have you told anyone?"

The door opened, and Draco looked up at the noise. His eyes widened when he glimpsed the crowd outside. A few flashes went off before the door finally shut, admitting Hermione. She hurried toward them carrying a small tray.

"Sorry, Harry, it took me forever to get through that mob." Draco watched as she set the tray on the table and looked anywhere but at him. "Tea, Harry?" she asked, picking up the pot and pouring a cup of water.

"Yes, please," he said, accepting the cup and choosing a flavor from amongst the assorted teabags. "Thank you."

Then she finally looked at Draco. "Tea?" He nodded and she handed him another cup of water and the plate of bags.

"Biscuits," she said finally, setting down a small plate. Draco decided he'd never seen anything look so perfect as those biscuits. "Would you like one?" Hermione asked him.

"Yes, please. They don't exactly serve high tea here, if you can believe it. So, Harry," he continued, returning his attention to his friend. "As I was saying. Have you told anyone yet?" Harry's eyes widened and Draco thought he looked ready to leap over the table at him. He smirked.

"Malfoy," Harry said warningly.

"Told anyone what?" Hermione asked, looking from Harry to Draco and back to Harry.

"Nothing," Harry muttered through clenched teeth.

Draco chuckled. "I was just asking Harry here about Ginny." He waited, and watched as comprehension dawned on Hermione's face.

Her jaw dropped and she looked at her friend. "Harry Potter!"

Harry was glaring daggers at Draco.

"Harry, what's this about? Tell me right now, I demand it!" Hermione said.

"Come on, Potter. It's not like you wouldn't have told her first, anyway. You said you would," Draco teased.

"Yes, Malfoy, I said that _I _would tell her. And _after _I'd talked to Ginny."

Hermione threw her arms around Harry and squealed, causing Harry to relent in his anger. He hugged her back. "Congratulations!" she said into his shoulder.

Then she pulled back. "Wait, Ginny _is _pregnant, right?"

"Yes, Hermione."

She squealed again. "Oh, goodness! Since when? How far along is she? When did this happen?"

Draco chuckled.

"Well, she's… three months along, so that would mean Christmas. I mean, that's the only time I have seen her."

"Oh, I'm so excited!"

Harry looked at Draco. "We were going to wait to tell everyone until everything cleared up…"

"I'm so glad I know, though," Hermione said, finally settling down. "Aren't you happy, Harry?"

He finally smiled. "Yes, I am."

"That's so incredible!"

Draco realized he'd been staring at Hermione. The smile that had lit her face at the news of the expected baby was the most carefree and light he'd ever seen on her. He looked at his tea cup and took a drink.

"Draco, I need to ask you something," said Harry.

"Go on."

"That… spell you cast, just when Voldemort died. Why did you?"

Draco sat straight in his seat. "I spent a good deal of time researching Horcruxes before coming to you. One thing I learned about them is that once they're made, they like to stay made. They are difficult to completely destroy. All the others went more easily than the final one because they weren't the last. This one, the piece that remained inside the Dark Lord, was the last piece. I knew that when you killed him, that piece would try to assume a new host. You were the closest thing. I'd prepared myself to cast the Splitting spell. With a lot of luck, I timed it right."

"So… I was hit with a part of his soul?"

"Yes. But unlike when a soul is split to create a Horcrux, this wasn't a viable piece. The other half went into a rock, which I then completely destroyed."

"Oh, but what if you hadn't been there?" Hermione asked in barely a whisper.

He looked at her and Merlin help him, he just wanted to take her in his arms and hold her forever. "Let's… just be glad we don't have to think about that, shall we?"

She nodded. "I guess you knew more about Horcruxes than you let on."

"Yes. And I appreciated your attempts to learn ways to…circumvent the killing of the host, but such a thing isn't possible. At least, it's never been attempted."

"You could have said."

"It wouldn't have changed anything."

"I suppose not."

Draco signed. "So what happens next?"

"I spoke to the Interrogator yesterday. He said we'd hear something by the weekend."

Draco shook his head, disbelief, relief and a hint of fear running through him, and looked at Harry. "How is everyone?"

He shrugged. "I've only been awake for about two hours; Hermione would know better than I."

Draco looked at her and felt all kinds of things happen inside him when their eyes met. He knew he loved her, and he knew she cared about him, but he sensed an odd reluctance from her. She'd been…distant. When she'd seen him earlier, she'd been exactly _her_. Now, though, it felt as though something had wedged itself between them and he had no idea what it was.

She smiled. "Ron is good, Ginny is good. The Order…" she looked at Harry. "Has a lot of questions— foremost, why you trusted Draco."

Harry nodded and looked at Draco, who then addressed Hermione. "If I get out, and after… I do a few things, I can let Harry out of the Vow. He'll be free to tell anyone he wishes what we talked about."

Hermione inhaled sharply and something in her chest tightened.

"No, Draco, I wouldn't," said Harry. "No one needs to know that; people will just have to accept that I trusted you and that I had my reasons."

Draco felt the lightness Harry must have been talking about earlier. He smiled, amazed that though he'd started out expecting nothing, he'd gained a friend. Or two. He looked at Hermione.

"How are _you _doing?" he asked her pointedly, surprised at how sure he sounded, that he sounded like he knew what he was doing when really he felt a little small at the moment.

She blushed slightly. "I – I'm fine."

Harry's eyes widened and he looked from Draco to Hermione, then back to Draco. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking Draco if he wanted him to leave. Draco shook his head and looked back to Hermione. "How are you _really _doing?" he asked.

She looked at him, a myriad emotions passing over her face, among them relief and even more fear than he'd ever seen in her before. He frowned.

The door opened and a nervous-looking wizard entered. "M-Mr. Potter, Sir, your time with the prisoner is over."

Harry nodded and stood; Hermione did too. "Thank you."

Draco could see through the slightly open door that the crowd was still waiting, still hoping for a glimpse inside. Flashes were again going off almost nonstop.

"So, Draco, guess this is it for awhile. Hopefully we'll hear something soon. He extended his hand; Draco gave him a questioning look. "Everyone is watching," Harry said. "This moment will shape the future."

Draco nodded, understanding, and clasped Harry's hand. If he thought the cameras had been constant before, they were now so brilliant he couldn't see for a few moments after the door closed behind Harry and Hermione.

**ooo**

Two days later, just before dawn, there was another knock on Draco's door. He sat up and waited for the knocker to enter.

"You ready?" came the gruff and annoyed voice of a guard.

"Yes," Draco replied. The door swung wide and he walked through it. The guard led him through the bowels of Azkaban to the security desk outside the Apparation point that led back to the Ministry. The guard pushed him toward the desk, and with one final malicious sneer, turned back into the prison.

"Draco Malfoy," said the security guard. "Here are your belongings: one wand, one set robes, one pair pants, one shirt, one pair shoes. And an additional set of clean clothes, dropped off earlier this morning. Please change."

He did as he was told, still worried that at any moment, someone would burst through the door and shout that there had been a mistake, that he wasn't free to leave after all. But nothing happened, and he quietly entered the small Apparation station, and in a few moments, found himself at the Ministry of Magic. One person was in the room waiting for him.

"Malfoy."

Draco grinned. "Potter."

"Thought you might want this," Harry said, handing Draco a Muggle ball cap. "Help cover up all that shiny hair. Just in case even _this _was leaked somehow."

"Thanks," he replied, putting the cap on. Together they walked in silence through the Ministry toward the front entrance. There was no crowd—no reporters, no cameras flashing. Draco had specifically requested, in his most demanding tone, that a date and time be set for his release, but that he be actually freed the day before. He wanted no attention whatsoever.

When they reached the giant fountain, Harry stopped. "Listen, Draco. I… was wondering if you'd come with me to Grimmauld Place."

Draco looked at him askance. "Why?"

Harry glanced up at the centaur and smiled. "You just planned on running off, then?"

Draco frowned. "I… thought I'd go home, get some real sleep for a change. I hadn't planned on running off anywhere."

"Look, Draco. We're… friends now. I'd like it to stay that way."

He wasn't sure what to say. "What's at Grimmauld Place? If you expect me to walk into some sort of… celebration, or party, or…some such thing, you can forget it."

"No, no," said Harry with a wave. "It's just me, and the others. Ron, Hermione, Ginny. I promise."

"Okay."

Harry grinned. "Excellent. And oh, the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix are at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place."

Draco looked at him questioningly.

"Secret Keeper," Harry said. "See you there."

The house was quiet when they arrived. Harry led Draco to the kitchen, where the others were sitting quietly. Draco felt very awkward walking into the room, but as soon as he saw Hermione, he relaxed. She smiled at him and got up from her seat.

"You hungry?" she asked, heading toward the stove.

He smiled back. "Yeah."

"The usual?"

"Sounds perfect."

Draco sat at the end of the table and Harry sat by Ginny.

"So, Malfoy," said Ron. "Tell us about the terms of your release. We're all really interested."

"Oh, well, okay. I have a week to get a few things in order from the Manor. The Ministry is going to take it. And good riddance. I never want to set foot there again. Though I must, as I have to make arrangements for a place for my mother to live. Nothing major, simply move her things to one of the other houses."

Ron's jaw dropped and Ginny kicked him, eliciting an "Ow!"

"After that week, I begin a sixth-month period wherein I'm not allowed to do magic."

"What?" said Harry. "Really? No magic at all?"

"No. I'm to turn in my wand. Some rubbish about teaching me that magic is a privilege or whatnot. I don't think my life will be vastly affected. Following this period, I'll have an additional six months of probation, but I will get my wand back. I've been tagged with a tracer so the Ministry will know my whereabouts at all times. For a year. Let's see, what else… oh yes, donate graciously to whatever causes the Ministry wishes, allow them to have full control over everything in the Manor minus a few personal affects, and Potter, we have to give an interview."

"Oh. Well, I figured," Harry said with a shrug.

"I agreed to do one, and one only. With you. You may decide who will give it."

"Okay."

"So that's it?" Ron asked.

Draco smirked, remembering that Ron had hoped he would get what he deserved. "That's it, Weasley. Sorry to disappoint you."

"No, no, it's not that," Ron said hurriedly. "I was just checking."

Hermione set a plate of eggs in front of Draco and took the seat beside Ron. "I've had a very busy last couple of days," she said, looking at Draco. "I spent the day before last going over the plans I came up with for the Death Eater round up with Seamus and then his boss. Yesterday I presented the plans to the entire office of Aurors. They're going to start on it immediately."

"Good," said Draco.

"And about your mother," Hermione continued.

"What about her?"

"They've all agreed she can go free. She was in prison during the end phase, she'd had no firm evidence against her, and she's cooperated completely with the Ministry since her arrest."

Draco nodded. "As soon as I'm able, I plan to collect her and take her to the Edge. While Azkaban would be a safe place for her to remain, she'd be more comfortable in my house." He paused and smiled slightly. "Though it will be far less than she's used to. They said her release would be arranged during this week." He didn't want to say any more, not in front of the others, but he felt a great sense of relief that his mother would be okay and not sentenced to life in prison.

"I can't believe it's over," said Ginny after no one had spoken for several minutes.

Harry squeezed her hand and looked at everyone at the table in turn. "Me either."

**ooo**

As the day wore on, more and more people congregated at Grimmauld Place. First the Weasleys arrived, just before lunch, and then after tea, the Order trickled in. Before Draco knew what had happened, it was in fact a full-blown celebration, complete with fireworks (courtesy of Fred and George), a most delicious dinner (prepared by Molly), cakes and puddings of all kinds donated to Harry from various shops around England, and more butterbeer and firewhiskey than The Leaky Cauldron could claim.

Draco didn't mind the growing party, as most of the focus was placed on Harry. He'd somewhat enjoyed watching the Weasleys interact, and they approached him cautiously to offer their congratulations and thanks. The Order was even more reserved, sending him nods from across the room. Some of them outright stared at him, making him slightly uneasy, but his cousin, Tonks, welcomed him openly. She even mussed his hair, to his annoyance, and told him he had to stop by for a visit sometime. He'd quickly agreed to get her away from his hair.

Once the party was in full swing, he hung back, away from the crowd, staying out of the spotlight as much as possible. Instead, he sipped on butterbeer and watched Hermione. He'd stuck around because Harry had threatened to regale the group with stories of their efforts, focused on Draco, if he tried to leave. However, the festivities showed no end in sight, and by eleven that evening, he was exhausted and quite ready for a bit of peace and quiet.

From across the room, Draco nodded to Harry, who quickly made his way over. "I'm leaving."

"So soon?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Soon? I've been here since six this morning. I haven't had a decent night's sleep since…before we left on the mission."

Harry laughed. "Okay, okay. You can go."

Draco rolled his eyes and pushed away from the wall against which he'd been leaning. "Thanks. See you around."

"You mean it?"

"_Yes_, Harry."

"Okay. Goodnight, then."

Draco nodded and watched as Harry returned to his wife. He smiled to himself, then his eyes met Hermione's. She smiled and he started toward her, but Molly crossed his path before he got to her. He thanked her for dinner, and the lovely evening, and when she moved on, Hermione was standing in her place.

"Hey," she said, shoving her hands in her pockets.

He thought she looked very adorable and very nervous, and he knew it was because of him, but he had no other choice. Things had to happen in a certain order before they could continue the conversation they'd started the night before he left.

"Hey. Um, well, goodnight."

She blinked. "You're leaving?"

"Yes. I'm…beat," he replied running a hand through his hair.

"Oh."

"Look, like I'd said earlier, I have a few things to take care of."

She nodded.

"After that's done, there's the matter of the island."

"And the chocolate cake."

He smiled. "Yes. But I need a few days. I'll Owl you when I'm ready, okay?"

She bit her lip and frowned, and looked away.

"What?" he asked.

She shook her head, still not looking at her.

Draco took hold of her shoulders and she looked back at him. "What is it?"

"That's it?"

"_What's_ it?"

"You'll _Owl _me?"

She was hurt. By him. _Again_. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was hurt her, but things were only going to get worse before they could get better. "Yes. You'll understand everything, I promise. I told you I would tell you everything and I fully intend to keep that promise."

"But… I mean, you're not… well…"

"What, Hermione?"

A small smile stole onto her lips and it sent his insides roiling. He almost pulled her to him the rest of the way and kissed her, in the middle of the room, in front of all those people. Almost.

"I…" her voice dropped to a whisper. "You've barely spoken to me all day. Aren't you glad to see me?"

His chest tightened and he squeezed her shoulders. "Yes. Of course. And I'm sorry, but… you'll understand. Soon. Okay?"

She nodded and made to move closer, but stopped herself and pulled out of his grasp. "Okay. You'll Owl me."

"I will," he said earnestly. "Soon."

Hermione nodded and sighed. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

Another nod and sigh and she started to move away from him. _Bugger_, why did there have to be so many people around? In an instant, he reached out and grabbed her hand. Draco thought he might implode at the contact as waves of energy surged through his arm.

She stopped, looked down at their joined hands, then up at him. He held her gaze and gave her hand a small squeeze, hoping she'd understand to follow him. Then he released her hand and made his way through the room. She followed him into the foyer and through the front door onto the stoop.

As soon as the door had shut behind them, he turned around and took her face in his hands and kissed her. Kissed her as though his next breath depended on it. She returned it immediately, and his hands were in her hair and hers were around his neck and it was the most perfect thing he'd ever felt in his life. It was full of longing, passion, and desperate need. Then he broke the kiss and hugged her to him tightly.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, forgive me," he whispered over and over, feeling his lungs constrict and his throat tighten and tears prick his eyes. She held him tighter. He never wanted to let her go, never wanted to lose her. The thought that she might hate him again in the course of the next week was too much for him to bear.

Hermione only held on and rubbed his back, saying, "It's okay, shh, I do, I do. It's okay."

He shook his head against her hair but he couldn't speak, too overcome. He had everything to lose now and he was terrified.

"Draco…" she said and that was all he could take.

He pulled back and shook his head. "Just – just know that I'm sorry, okay? And… and that _this_ is the most important thing I've ever done."

She nodded, obviously confused and now getting upset. "Draco – "

"Goodnight," he said, cutting her off, and he turned around and took a few steps, then Disapparated.

**ooo**

**A/N:** Sigh. Only three more chapters to go! I'm really starting to miss this story already, and it's not even finished! I know you're all going to be wonderful and help me from being too depressed when the time finally comes. I really hoped you liked this chapter! Until next week!


	33. A Wave Unfurled

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter, or anything about him.

**Note: **Many thanks to my beta, eilonwy, for making me make this chapter better. I cannot tell you how hard this one kicked my in the stomach. And also to Z, for pinch-hitting and giving me another set of eyes and wonderful comments to make this chapter what it is.

_"Well the whole truth. It's like the story of a wave unfurled. But I held the evil of the world. So I stopped the tide. Froze it up from inside." --Dar Williams_

**ooo**

**Chapter 33 – A Wave Unfurled**

The next week passed in a blur.

Hermione and Harry had been interviewed extensively, everything they discussed in the interviews printed in the Daily Prophet about their activities over the previous seven months in as much detail as there was space. She and Harry, along with Ron and Ginny, went from event to event, celebrating the end of the War, or kicking off this charity drive, or that rebuilding function. Draco stayed away from the limelight, but did give his one, exclusive interview, together with Harry, to Luna's father for the Quibbler.

Needless to say, Hermione was exhausted, and she hadn't seen nor heard from Draco since the party at Grimmauld Place. Reporters had gathered at the Ministry the day he was to be released, only to wait all day and be told around sundown that Draco had left the previous morning.

Hermione hated waiting. She knew he was busy, making arrangements for his mother and preparing himself for his sentence, but what bothered her most was the unknown. She couldn't be sure about any future with Draco, despite what her heart told her – that he truly cared about her – and that was what kept her awake at night.

Finally, on Saturday, she got an Owl. She and Harry had returned to the Burrow a few days after he'd been released from the hospital, and had been there ever since. Draco's beautiful grey owl soared gracefully into Ginny's room and Hermione nearly fell out of bed in her rush to get to her.

His letter said simply this:

"Granger. I'm ready, if you think you are. Don't bother with the cake; come now."

She didn't need telling twice, and threw on the first thing she put her hands on, told Ginny where she was going, and ran out of the house. Harry came running out after her and called for her to wait.

She did.

"Hermione," he said, panting.

"Harry," she said, tapping her foot. "He said come now, and you know he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"Yes. But I just have to say this. Trust him. Believe him. And try to remember where he came from, where he was in life two years ago. He's come a long way, and he's trying to do the right thing."

She nodded. "Thank you. May I go?"

"Yes."

She disappeared with a sharp _pop!_

**ooo**

Hermione stood before the door to his house, heart pounding in her ears. She could just hear the sound of the waves crashing, and she closed her eyes and focused on the sound. Her heart slowed, her nerves eased, and she knocked.

A moment later, the door opened. Draco looked just like she remembered, and for some reason, it made her tear up.

He frowned, concerned. "Is everything all right?" he asked softly.

She nodded, and she wanted to hug him, but he seemed tense, his movements stiff, so different from the last time they were together, she decided against it. So she shifted her weight to her other foot and looked around. "Uhm, I'm here," she said.

"Come in." He opened the door and she walked through. The house was still exactly the same, too, and that made her happy and relieved. She stopped outside the sitting room.

"Are we going to sit?" she asked.

"No," he said. "We're going on a little trip."

"What? Where?"

"My island."

Her jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"

He blinked. "Yes. That's why I told you not to bring the cake." He picked up a bag he'd packed and slung it over his shoulder. "Don't worry, I brought some things for you."

"Things? What things?"

"Overnight things. Take my arm."

Overwhelmingly confused, Hermione did as she was told and slipped her arm through his. Without looking at her, he Disapparated them.

**ooo**

They landed on an island just like he'd always described. White, sandy beach, brilliant blue sky, and palm trees. She looked around in amazement, and smiled at him. "This is really yours?" she asked.

"Yes," he said distantly, a faint smile evident. "This way."

Her eyes followed his path, and she saw a house not far up the beach. She followed him. He still would not speak to her, and she wanted to scream. When they reached the front door, Draco stopped and looked at her.

He took a deep breath. "Are you ready?"

She huffed, feeling slightly frustrated, wanting the waiting to be over. "You realize I don't even know what this is about. How can I possibly be ready or not? How – "

Draco reached up and put his hand gently over her mouth to quiet her. "Shh, Hermione. I know. Just – wait, okay? You'll get all your answers today. I promise." She nodded, and he released her. He wanted to say more, he wanted to say everything, but he could barely breathe. She was still looking at him and he took the opportunity to cement her face, her aura, her being in his mind.

He took another deep breath, then knocked on the door.

"I thought you owned this place."

"I do."

"Then why did you knock?"

"Because I don't live here."

"Who does?"

The door opened, and Hermione turned to see her mother standing there, perfectly alive, perfectly healthy. And very tan.

"Oh, Hermione," she said, and reached for her daughter.

Her first reaction was to pull back, and she bumped into Draco, who stood firm. She looked at him, and he was looking at Jane. Hermione looked back.

"Mum?" she said, tentatively, hesitantly. "Is – that you?"

Jane Granger nodded and tears fell from her eyes. Hermione ran into her arms and they embraced, crying and laughing. Draco merely stood, trying hard to be invisible. Then Steve approached his wife and daughter, and Hermione hugged him, crying even more. Jane hugged them both, and Draco felt completely out of place and awful for intruding. He remembered he was the cause of all the mess, however, and deserved to feel awkward and out of place.

Then Jane looked up at him, and she smiled. "Draco. Come inside, dear." She walked to him and had to almost force him into the house. Hermione was holding onto her father, looking at Draco with a look he'd never seen before.

"Are you ready, son?" Steve asked, and Hermione looked at her father, then at Draco, utterly baffled.

He nodded, but he couldn't speak just yet.

"I'll get you some water," said Jane, looking at Draco. He nodded, and she went into the kitchen.

Steve led Hermione to the sofa, and they sat down together. Jane brought Draco a glass of water and sat on Hermione's other side. They'd set up a chair for him, and he sat, unable to keep from feeling like he was in the spotlight.

"Just start from the beginning," said Jane.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at Hermione. She was waiting, expectantly. He searched for something, anything, to give him hope, but found nothing. She looked almost blank.

"Hermione," he said, his voice ragged. "Say something."

"I think the beginning should do very nicely."

Somehow, that gave him what he needed to start.

…**ooo…**

Draco Malfoy was standing outside the last house in the whole world he wanted to be anywhere near. He knew who was inside, and even though he didn't care a lick about them, or their daughter, he still wanted to be anywhere but there. Near _Muggles_. He'd had very little association with them, and they were usually screaming in terror or pleading for their lives or the lives of others when he did. Pitiful. Only, despite how much he tried to ignore it, to discount it, to explain it away, he knew even pureblood wizards did the same when faced with the business end of a Death Eater's wand.

He'd been ordered here to kill two Muggles and a Muggleborn witch. To show the world that his Master meant to bring the War to a new front. It was a very significant night for his Master, and he'd entrusted the job to Draco. He shut his eyes tight and leaned his head against the doorframe, trying to calm his nerves. A dull throb in his chest reminded him that his tally would grow by three that night, that he'd add three new faces to his nightmares. It was almost laughable—a Death Eater who hated killing. But he couldn't laugh. There was no laughter left in him. He hadn't heard it since… could he even remember?

And then, as if to spite him, he heard laughter itself coming from inside this house. He hadn't Apparated directly into the house because he needed a few minutes to steel himself for this task. He'd been needing these moments increasingly over the past six months, and the moments themselves got longer each time. Because no matter how many times he'd killed, it still killed him. A little piece of him died, lost to the darkness that was his soul. He could never get those pieces back; he would never be whole again. He chuckled bitterly at what his life had become.

Faithful slave. To pure evil, who cared nothing for those who served him, even those loyal to him. Like him. Loyal. Wasn't that just another word for stupid, mindless dog? Wanting always to please, afraid of the slightest flinch of the master? Ready to beg, heel, sit, lay down, fetch – kill?

Draco sighed and muttered, "_Alohomora_." The front door opened. He heard the laughter more loudly now. Two people; he didn't hear his third victim. No matter; he would wait. He was fully dressed in his Death Eater garb, except that for some reason, he hadn't put on his mask. Was it because he wanted _her _to know that it was _him_? To show her once for all that he was better than she was?

He hadn't thought about Hermione Granger in years. He had heard about her, heard her name, heard occasional reports on her activity, but he'd never really _considered _her. When he'd received his mission to kill her two days before, that changed. He thought about her more than any of his previous victims. Her face, her voice haunted his thoughts. It was the first time he'd had nightmares about a victim beforehand. He wondered if she would fight him. _Did he want her to fight back? _

He shook off the thought and followed the sound of the happy, oblivious voices. They were in the dining room, sitting at the table. He entered, wand raised.

Light seemed to waver and refocus when he entered the room. Though he said nothing, he knew that both occupants had been alerted to his presence but they didn't appear afraid, as his victims usually did.

The woman looked up at him, a brilliant smile still on her face. The smile slowly faded as she stared into Draco's eyes. For some reason, Draco couldn't take his eyes away from hers; it was as though he'd been paralyzed. The woman seemed to be trying to reach into his mind with her gaze. It unnerved him and something stuck in his throat. Finally she looked away, turning to her husband, and he gave her a slight nod. They both looked at him. "You must be Draco."

Draco stared at her, now gawking slightly. He started to speak but the man beat him to it.

"I think you're right," added her husband. "Hermione _did _say he had very pointy features."

"And nearly white hair," she commented.

Draco's breath caught in his throat and he scowled. _What_?

The woman caught his expression and smiled at him. "Hermione's told us so much about you," she said.

His mind went into overdrive, trying to come up with a reason the Mudblood would talk about _him_. Nothing he came up with seemed to make sense. And yet her parents were still calm, attempting to engage him in conversation, apparently unaware that he was about to snuff out their lives with two little words. He was caught so off-guard that all he could do was stare at them, letting his arm drop a few inches.

"We'll have to take your silence as confirmation. You look as though you haven't eaten in days. Would you like to sit and join us?" asked the woman kindly, indicating a seat between herself and Hermione's father.

Draco was not amused. "Don't you know who I am? _What _I am?" he sneered.

"Oh yes, we know," said the man. "You're the Malfoy boy. A Death Walker? Death Seer? What is it, dear? I can never keep up with what she tells us these days."

"Death Eater," supplied Draco, angry. "And you should know why I'm here, Muggle."

"To kill us, right?" said the woman plainly.

Draco blinked. "Yes," he said uncertainly, unnerved by her unflinching calm.

"Well, the least you can do is let us finish our meal, and since you're here, you might as well join us. We are at your mercy' we're not going anywhere. Surely there is no harm in delaying for half an hour. You look famished."

Draco was so astonished by their calmness that he collapsed into a chair at the table, though with no intention of actually eating.

"And why don't you make yourself more comfortable? We've got the heat on and that robe looks heavy. You must be burning up." The woman handed him a bowl of potatoes, which he absently took and set down without serving himself. She sighed and put a few spoonfuls on his plate. "Come on, now, take off that robe."

Draco was so shocked—so monumentally knocked off his mental legs—that he complied.

"I am Steve Granger, and this is my wife, Jane," said the man.

"Pleasure," said Draco automatically, in a daze. _Always be polite, even to those beneath you._ Usually the deed was over with by now, and he was scrounging around in the dark looking for loose change. Never before on a mission of death or destruction had he been told to sit, make himself comfortable, and join his victims for dinner.

Draco felt weary to his bones. He was always tired lately and worn out, and he hadn't even been sure he'd be able to go through with this assignment when he'd arrived. He felt, increasingly, that each time he killed he lost a part of himself he'd never be able to get back. Soon there would be nothing left.

"Carrots, dear. Take them. My arm's about to fall off." Once again, Draco absently took the bowl of carrots from Jane Granger and set it on the table. Again she served him a spoonful, and then, seeing that he wasn't going to cooperate, finished filling his entire plate.

"Now eat," she instructed.

"When is Hermione due?" asked Steve.

The mention of Hermione snapped Draco out of his fog. He whipped out his wand again and pointed it at Jane. "I repeat, do you know who I am?"

"We've been through this," Jane said. "You went to school with Hermione. We know all about you. Hermione and her friends warned us years ago that we might be targets for your side, simply because we were her parents. And that there was a possibility one of your lot would come calling eventually."

"I disabled all of her alert wards," Draco said, feeling a small inflation in his heart. At least he was good at what he did. "Tricky, yes—your daughter is very adept—but not impossible."

Neither Granger made any indication that this revelation concerned them.

"I see," said Steve finally, "Why don't you put your wand away and eat?"

"Aren't you afraid? I could have killed you twenty times by now!" he yelled, angry at their apparent lack of fear and proper respect for his position.

Jane considered him for a moment, then reached for Steve's hand and joined it with her own. Her eyes were sparkling and full of…_something_ Draco had never seen before. "It is normal to fear the unknown, and death is unknown. We were very afraid when we were first told of our potential danger, but as the months, then years passed, we came to realize there is no purpose in living in constant fear. Either one of us might be in a car accident on his way home from work. We have no guarantees in life." She turned to her husband and smiled. "We've had a good run, haven't we, Granger?" she said wistfully.

Steve gazed adoringly at his wife and said, "Yes, we have."

Draco blinked and slowly lowered his arm. They truly didn't _appear_ to be afraid of him in the least. He stared at Mrs. Granger, trying his best to understand _how _that was possible. Fear was all he'd ever known. He'd grown up with it, dealt with it, _faced _it every time he was called before the Dark Lord. He couldn't imagine living without it.

Somehow the smell of warm food punctured his thoughts and his stomach growled. He'd nearly given up eating, taking in just enough to stay alive. It must have been the absurdity of the situation, combined with the fact that he hadn't sat at a table to eat a real meal in years, that overcame his misgivings about the Grangers. He looked at his plate, laden with carrots, potatoes and roast beef, and did his best to maintain the Malfoy dignity while at the same time shoveling food into his mouth.

"I wish we had more time," she said, "To see Hermione grow up, get married, have children… little witches and wizards running around in their nappies, shooting spells at us."

"Aye," he replied, thinking fondly of the picture she'd painted.

Draco was amazed. These were Muggles, and they actually sounded like they wanted Hermione to marry a wizard and have magical children. As though they were…_accepting_ of the wizarding world. He shook his head. "Hey!" he snapped, drawing their attention. "I am in charge here! You should be terrified of me!"

"You've got a bit of carrot on your lip, dear," said Jane, and she reached over to him in a motherly manner and with her napkin blotted his lip to extract the carrot.

Draco flinched at her touch. "Don't touch me, filthy Muggle," he spat.

Jane only laughed. "Why are you so angry, Draco Malfoy?"

He stared at the woman, incredulous. _How _could she be so bloody _calm_? _None _of his previous experiences with murder were anything like this one. He usually went in, found his victims and then killed them as quickly as possible. He never tortured them—killing made him sick enough. But they'd always been _afraid_ of him.

"I'm angry because you do not seem to understand that I am going to end your life tonight! No more Christmases, no more birthdays, no more Hermione, no more laughing or eating, no magical babies! Nothing! You will be as nothing!"

Steve frowned and looked at Draco hard. "Are you going to kill Hermione too?" he asked.

His tone reminded Draco of Dumbledore. It sounded as though Steve were asking a question he already knew the answer to and couldn't quite believe someone could be so horrible. Draco gulped. "Uhm – " he started.

"Please don't," said Mrs. Granger softly, intently. It cut through him in a way that all the usual begging and pleading and bargaining of his victims never had. "I know you're not exactly friends, but please spare her. She has too much life remaining to die right now."

"I do as I'm told. Your pleading will gain you nothing," he replied. He tried to sound unaffected by her request, but he knew his response had sounded timid and unsure. And she certainly had not _begged_. She had simply asked.

"Do you like doing what you're told, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Steve, piercing him again with his gaze.

Draco growled. "I _do_ as I'm _told_. Whether I like it or not."

"We're still alive," Jane said quietly. "Why is that?"

Draco froze, his eyes locked with hers. He didn't think he could answer her question because he didn't really know why himself. He'd been steadily falling apart for nearly a year, the most recent four months especially quickly. What had happened to him tonight? Was it _possible_ that for some reason he'd finally reached the point where he'd had enough? Where he _couldn't_ kill again?

"You don't really want to kill us," said Jane without waiting for an answer from him.

He narrowed his eyes, feeling the familiar swell of panic in his gut at the thought of disobeying the Dark Lord. "What makes you say that?" he asked, slightly panicked.

"Because we're still alive," said Jane. "I saw in your eyes the instant I looked at you that you didn't want to kill us, not really, not in your soul."

"Just because I haven't killed you yet doesn't mean I won't _do as I'm told_," he said with as much venom as he could muster.

"I'm sorry," said Jane, taking another bite of potato.

"You? Sorry for what? For _me_? Ha!" said Draco bitterly. "That's rich. You should be so lucky as to feel anything for me."

"I _do_ feel sorry for you," Jane continued. "Hermione has told us all about you. You were brought up to hate people like her for no other reason than because she happened to be born to people like us. Prejudice stems from fear of what you do not understand."

"I understand that those with pure blood are of a higher social class in our world than those with dirty blood," Draco said calmly, almost too calmly. He didn't understand himself right now. He should have killed them already!

"Says you," replied Jane, looking at him skeptically. "And who are _you_ to judge?"

"I'm a pureblood," he said with forced conviction. But even as he said the words, he felt empty. _I'm a pureblood_, he thought to himself.

"So? Why does that make you so special?"

"Generation upon generation of my family have been wizards," he said blandly. It was all rote, every bit of it, and he knew it. "Magic flows through my veins, and it always has. Mudbloods are freaks of nature, popping up like a horrible disease you can't cure."

"Someone in your ancestry had to be the first, Draco. Surely you can't suppose that every single member of your family tree was a pureblood."

"It doesn't matter. _I_ am a pureblood. I _deserve_ magic."

"Why? So you can use it to kill and injure others? Why do you deserve this magic if you intend to use it for such evil purposes? Those who do evil with any good thing do not surely deserve to have that good thing. Shouldn't one deserve something based on merit, not chance? What if you had been born into a Muggle family? Wouldn't you feel like you deserved magic too?"

Draco stared at the woman. And he didn't know what it was. Maybe she'd spiked the pumpkin juice – yes, the Grangers had served him pumpkin juice, a purely wizard drink – or put something in the roast.

Everything hovered around his mind—Jane's words, her calm questionings, the truth he'd always known and denied, that Mudbloods were as good as he. Their own _daughter _had single-handedly proved that from first year on. Then everything crashed down on him. He folded under the weight of finally accepting and admitting the truth. He knew she was right. He'd known it forever, since he was quite small. It had been so easy, living in the world in which he'd grown up, to ignore what had been staring him in the face. He'd found that his father's way had been easier, more expedient. But his soul, the voice in his head he couldn't quash no matter how hard he tried or how much he wanted to, knew it to be true: she and her kind were just as good as his kind.

Something inside of him finally broke. It had been torn, damaged to the point of failure, but this was the final pull, the final weight that snapped. Maybe it was that fragile shell encasing his heart, willing it to keep beating for some unknown reason. What was the point of his life? He was in despair. He'd been falling before, spiraling downward, crashing toward the bottom where there was only pain and loneliness. And in that moment, he hit. _Hard_.

When he'd not spoken for a moment, Jane looked at Steve, concerned. She reached over to put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. He shrugged it away, but she held it firm, and he eventually relented. Then Draco put his head in his hands and wept, for the first time since leaving Hogwarts. Great wracking sobs that shook his whole body, and a gut-wrenching ache filled the hearts of Hermione's parents. Neither Granger rose to comfort him; they knew there _was_ no comfort for the demons in his soul. Jane just kept her hand resting firmly on his shoulder, a gentle reminder that they were there, that he wasn't completely alone.

After some time, he slowly started to relax. Jane handed him tissue after tissue to wipe away the river that flowed from his eyes. Finally, when the heaving stopped, and the river was dried to a trickle, Draco looked up at Jane.

She was smiling at him, with a soft, kind smile. Draco saw no pity, no fear, no anger. Just kindness, and a strong desire to make the pain go away. "You don't have to do this, you know," she said softly.

"Do what?"

"Kill us."

Draco snorted. "It's either you or me," he said.

"What's troubling you, son?" said Steve, with a kindness that Draco had never heard before—and from a _stranger—_ that Draco's heart broke again. And with _that_ break, a tiny crack appeared in the walls that surrounded his heart and he felt himself slipping through.

"I hate myself," he said mechanically. "I hate everything about myself. I hate what I am, what I do, what I thought I wanted to do. I hate the goals I have for myself, and the master I serve unfailingly. I hate every single thing about my entire life, start to finish. There is nothing inside me but sickness and rottenness and death. And I wish every day I would just die, to end all this hatred."

Jane stood up and wrapped her arms around Draco in a tight hug. He barely noticed that he had rested his head on her shoulder. He only knew he felt a warmth he'd never felt in his life.

"It doesn't have to be like this," she said, pulling back. Through the smile, he saw tears in her eyes – she was crying for him! And not tears of pity, which he would have instantly despised, but tears of pain. She actually hurt for him.

"Of course it does. Until someone sends a flashy green spell in my direction, I'm here, doing this, every day of my wretched life." He put his head in his arms on the table. "I wish you would kill me."

"Nonsense," said Steve. "Chin up. Look at me."

Draco obeyed, no longer questioning why he was doing it. He decided he'd momentarily slipped from sanity. It had to be the blasted electricity. Baring his soul to Muggles. And Hermione Granger's parents at that.

"Have you nothing to live for?"

"No."

"Your parents?"

Draco shook his head.

"Friends?"

Draco scoffed.

"A girl?"

Another weary headshake.

"Honor?"

"What's that?" he asked bitterly.

"Do the right thing here, Draco."

"And that would be?"

"Don't kill tonight."

"You're just trying to save your skins," he said, though deep down he knew it wasn't true.

"We're trying to save yours," said Jane sincerely, looking into his dying, empty, steel-grey eyes.

Draco thought long and hard about his options. And they were bleak. But these people had lit a fire in him unlike anything he'd ever felt, just from their kindness and thoroughly honest concern for _him_. The man who'd been sent to kill them!

"Like I said," he started, "It's me or you. And despite how much I hate myself, I'm not ready to die. Something tells me I should keep holding out. For what, I may never know."

"Then it's us," said Steve. "I think that perhaps you've been waiting for this moment. To finally change. It's obviously been coming for a long time. You'd been holding out for _now_. So you would have the chance to make the decision _not _to kill."

Draco frowned and made an admission he never imagined he'd make, even in his moments of deepest despair. "I don't really want to kill you, I never did. I never have. You or anyone."

"Isn't there a way out of this?"

Draco thought hard again. He started to shake his head, ready to give it all up, when the answer struck him like a mallet on a gong. "There might be," he started slowly, "If you were willing to go along with it. I don't really see why you would be, but if you want to hear it, I'll tell you."

"Please do," said Steve.

"I could fake your deaths."

"Oh, well, that's a no-brainer," said Jane teasingly.

Draco felt his lips form an expression he didn't recall them ever forming, at least not in recent memory. He smiled, ever so slightly, at her jab.

"Can you do that?" asked Steve.

"Yes," Draco answered, his heart starting to pound in his chest at the thought, at the idea of betraying the Dark Lord. He could be killed simply for this conversation. "There is a potion that mimics death. It's untraceable by magic; very Dark stuff. A few drops of the counter-potion on the tongue would revive you."

"Is it safe?" Steve asked.

"I…I've never used it. But my father has a bottle of both the mimic and the counter-potions. I'm sure he wouldn't bother to purchase something that didn't work."

Steve and Jane looked at each other and then Jane said, "We need more information. How exactly would this go? And what about Hermione?"

Draco nodded, thinking. "I would administer the potion to the three of you. The Ministry would come and find you, declare you dead. I would provide the counter-potion at first opportunity and I'd… have to hide you away somewhere." He was thinking quickly now, ideas tumbling through his mind. "I have my own resources, I could easily take care of all your basic needs…"

Steve frowned. "Where would you hide us?"

"I'm not sure, somewhere…far away, somewhere you would have no chance of being seen by anyone, especially wizards. Even the smallest hint of your survival would send the Dark Lord after you."

"Where—"

"I don't know," Draco repeated, frustrated. "A…desert island, or the top of a mountain. Somewhere very secluded."

Jane nodded, a hint of a smile on her face. She took her husband's hand. "We would all be safe."

Something was nagging in the back of Draco's mind. "Would… she go along with this?" he asked.

Hermione's parents looked at each other again, this time not at all amused.

Draco continued. "I realize that you have to make this decision now, without her, but when she comes home, there are two scenarios I can picture. In the first, she'll listen to this plan. Then she'll either accept or reject it. If she chooses the latter, I'm as good as dead. The second scenario is that she may simply overpower me and have me arrested. If I missed a ward, of if she's alerted in any way to the presence of someone here besides you, she could take me by surprise. In this scenario, I end up in prison—not exactly an attractive option.

"So tell me. Do you think she could go along with this plan? She could choose instead to fight me, and were she to win, it would only delay what we're trying to avoid—your deaths." He didn't think he had it in him to even stun her now, much less kill her. In his mind, he gave her a sporting chance of defeating him. He couldn't risk it.

Steve rubbed his wife's hand and gave her an encouraging smile, and then turned to Draco. "I—honestly, I can't say."

Jane continued. "She'd be taken away from her friends. From Harry and Ron."

"She'd be angry with us," Steve said with conviction.

"Spitting," agreed Jane with a nod. "Would she ever…_forgive _us? For taking her away from her life, from her friends, her mission?"

It clicked in his mind finally. That was it. He didn't think she'd ever go quietly.

"Would she stay put?" Draco asked firmly. "If I get you three out of here, put you somewhere safe, would she _stay _there?" Neither parent spoke. "I need you to be honest. I can't afford to take any chances, and neither can you. If I fail tonight, someone else will come after me, someone who won't hesitate to kill you."

Steve took a deep breath. "It's…always a possibility that she'll want to nip back from time to time…"

Jane sighed. "The truth is, we're not sure how she'd react. We don't think she would deliberately endanger us, but if she believed strongly enough that we were safe, I don't think she'd hesitate to try and return. For her friends.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I cannot accept that. All it would take would be _one _sighting of her to completely ruin my plan. Ruin _this_…this thing we're doing now. And she'd likely be killed on the spot if a Death Eater saw her. Not to mention the fact that I would be killed as well. I'm not willing to risk my life for that."

"But you don't _want _to kill again, do you?" Jane asked.

"No, but like I said before, I do as I'm told, and I still consider staying alive more important than strengthening my moral fiber."

Jane looked at Steve, a worried expression on her face.

"Remember," continued Draco. "Once you two are safe, I can make sure you stay that way. There are spells that will effectively hide you. If, say, I put you on an island, you two would be stuck there, so to speak, unable to leave. On the other hand, she could simply Apparate and return to England. It's too dangerous—for me." He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. If she were captured, she'd be able to tell her captors that you are alive, but not where you are located. Her life would be forfeit, and you would remain safe. Your priority, I assume, is her safety."

"Yes," said Steve.

"So you _must_ be able to tell me what she would do. You know her far better than I do. If there is even a slight chance she would return to England after her death has been faked, I cannot go through with it."

Steve and Jane spoke quietly between themselves for a few minutes. Draco didn't try to listen; he was fairly certain he knew what they would say.

Nodding to his wife, Steve sighed and turned to Draco. "We cannot say without a doubt that she would remain with us. But we don't want her to have to go through what she will believe is our death."

"There is no other way. Your options are, I kill you and her, or you two have your deaths faked and she lives, believing you to be dead."

Jane shut her eyes tight. "So…that's it, then, isn't it?" she asked, her brow furrowed in worry.

"It's your decision," Draco said.

"You were told to kill all of us. If you don't fake her death, how can you keep her alive and…and _safe_, too?" Steve asked.

Draco thought hard. Just when they had seemed to reach a conclusion, another option or complication arose. Quickly he ran through all the Dark Magic he knew of, all the spells, enchantments, potions; everything. Then—_potions. _He spoke slowly. "I…suppose I could still fake your deaths, but… if the Dark Lord believed she is more useful to us alive than dead, it might work…"

Steve squeezed Jane's hand. "Can you convince him?"

"I can try. But you two would _have _to go into hiding. She couldn't know – I can't risk her trying to contact you in some way. One word spoken and heard by the wrong person could be disastrous. It would be too risky. She's going to have to believe you're dead, in order to truly convince the Dark Lord, for all angles of this plan to work." He looked from Steve to Jane. "Can you accept that?"

"Yes," said Steve quietly. Jane nodded, tears in her eyes.

Draco was moved by their strength and their sacrifice. He didn't think _either _of his parents would answer the same way, much less both of them.

"This…isn't going to be easy. You must know that. I have no idea how long you'll have to be in hiding. At the rate the War is going now…it could be years."

"Do you hate him?" Steve asked. "Your master?"

"Yes…" Draco replied.

"And everything you do for him?"

"Yes…"

Steve and Jane were looking at him expectantly as though waiting for him to say something. Or to think something, or…

His eyes widened. "You think I should turn from him."

"Why not?" Jane asked. "You've already said that your life right now isn't what you want."

"Why _not?_ Have you any _idea_ what he's like? No, of course you don't. _No one _has ever successfully left his service. Everyone who has tried has been found and killed."

Steve smiled. "You don't necessarily have to _leave_ his service. And even if you do, you need only stay alive longer than he does."

Draco felt the full force of what Steve was implying hit him in the gut like a sledgehammer. Not only had Steve suggested he turn from the Dark Lord, but that he bring him down as well. "Oh," he forced out. "Right."

The thought alone made Draco feel sick. He knew the Dark Lord wasn't invincible—that he _could_, in theory, be defeated. It had never entered his mind that _he _might play a role in his Master's downfall. Some very small part of him had secretly longed for the day when the Dark Lord would fall. Every time his father looked worried, every time his aunt had a particularly dark look in her eyes, his stomach jumped in the hope that it was _over_. Even though he knew the consequences for himself.

It would be more difficult than anything Draco had ever done before to bring down the Dark Lord—nearly impossible, even—but it would be worth it. What did he have to lose? He nodded to Steve, finally accepting and cementing in his mind that he would work to betray his master.

"I have one request of you," said Steve, adopting a very serious, almost intimidating tone.

"Oh?" Draco asked, raising an eye.

"You seem to be a lost spirit, Draco. You have no true roots to keep you grounded. You need that; we all need something to give us purpose.

"What are you getting at?" Draco asked, wary of what was coming.

"To give you purpose. Once we're gone, Hermione will be left alone. She will need someone to look after her without us around."

"She won't be alone," he returned. "She's got Potter and Weasley. They'll look after her."

"Not as she needs. She will need someone from the other side protecting her. From your master. Her friends can only do so much."

Draco frowned; what were they getting at? "What do you suggest?"

"That will be your purpose. To see to it that she remains safe. Protect her from the evils she wouldn't anticipate. From what your side might decide to do. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you will know that you did not follow like a lost puppy dog, that you made a decision for yourself, and that it was a good decision. That it was the right thing to do."

Something long abandoned inside him burst to the surface and Draco felt ready to latch on to their hope for him. He'd long ago given up on life, holding no hope for himself. He was frightened at how much he was ready to reach for it, like it was a small light in a dark, empty expanse. He could barely see its shimmer, but he knew it was there, and if he could just catch it, it would grow until it filled the expanse and he saw not gloom and despair, but something else, something wonderful. Life, they called it.

"You want me to protect her?" he asked, incredulous. "She'll curse me into oblivion if she sees me anywhere near her!"

"Then she can't see you. We're not asking you to befriend her, or guard her with her knowledge. In fact, I think it would be best if no one knew," Jane said. "Considering how dangerous this is for you, especially. You may not understand now, but hopefully you will some day. There is great power in caring for someone else, Draco. It may save your life."

"And she need never know," added Steve, "unless such a time arises that you wish to tell her."

"Fat chance," said Draco. "She would still curse me into oblivion."

Steve chuckled. "She is feisty, that girl. And fierce, too." He looked at his wife. "How I'm going to miss her," he said.

"Me too."

"So, I'm to watch over Hermione. Keep her safe, from _all _sides, from a distance."

"Yes. That is our request of you."

He took a deep breath, and turned himself over completely to their hope. "Okay. I will."

A clock somewhere in the house struck eight.

"Oh dear," said Jane, "We're expecting Hermione home soon!"

"How soon?" Draco asked, slightly panicking.

"Within the half hour," she said.

He stood and took up his robe in one fluid movement. "I will return as soon as possible with the potion. You'll hear a _pop_ when I leave and when I return."

"Yes, yes," said Jane, pushing him toward the door, which was silly, since he wasn't leaving through the door. "We're familiar with Apparation."

In the hallway, Draco stopped and looked at Steve and Jane Granger. He would still be able to turn back, after leaving their house without killing them, after stealing that potion from his father's stores, after coming back and having them drink it. But once he left Hermione alive, there was no going back. Somewhere inside, the heart that had shattered this very night began its slow healing process. He was supposed to protect her. He couldn't kill her. He would not go back. Draco gave a curt nod before Disapparating.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Dear wonderful readers: This story is nearing the end. There will not be a sequel, but I have enjoyed these characters so much that I'm not quite ready to let them go. That's where I need YOUR help.

I would like to write a series of "deleted scenes" from We Learned the Sea. So. What do you want to see? What scenes did I skip over that you wished I'd written? Do you have any questions about what happened at all, during any part of this story or about what happened before it? For example: "I want to see how Draco cast the Binding Spell on Hermione."

I plan to take all of your ideas/questions/etc and choose 5-7 that I will write about. I'm really excited about this idea. They will be posted in a separate file, as my dear Z recommended, but more on that next chapter.

I truly cannot wait to see what you come up with! And thanks for reading:)


	34. Always the Ocean

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Harry Potter! Or Draco, or Hermione, or the magical world.

**Note**: Many thanks to my beta, eilonwy! You know what a HUGE help you have been with this story, and how much better it is because of you. THANK YOU! Also, special thanks to Z, for helping me with this one too. Title taken from "The Ocean" by...Dar Williams

**ooo**

**Chapter 34 - Always the Ocean**

_Believe in me as I believe in you — Smashing Pumpkins_

Draco Malfoy was many things. He would quickly admit that he could be rude, snarky, petulant, difficult and mean. He could put on airs, carry himself as though he alone was the center of the universe, and look down his nose at just about anyone for just about any reason.

In general, he was poised, intelligent, sure of himself. He rarely put himself in situations where he had no control, and on the rare occasion when he did, he still had enough information to make reasonable guesses as to how people would act, how the situation would resolve.

He'd had two years to imagine the moment when he would tell Hermione what he'd done. At first, he wasn't too concerned with what her response might be. The more he watched her, the more his conscience pricked him about his actions, though hardly enough to overpower his will to survive and complete his mission.

After she'd moved into his house, things had changed. Her tremendous strength, in the face of the belief that her parents were dead at his hand, had affected him more than he could have anticipated. The more time they spent together, the more he cared about her, and eventually, how she would feel about him once she knew the truth.

As the time to face Voldemort approached, Draco had pushed thoughts of telling Hermione the truth aside. He'd had more immediate concerns. But he'd thought about it a great deal before that time, and had never come to a good hypothesis.

After Voldemort's death, Hermione's reaction was _all _he'd thought about. One thing he'd decided was that she'd be angry. Beyond that, he couldn't venture an evidence-based guess.

She was so…impossible to define. She didn't fit into any one category. One moment he'd think he had her figured, and then he'd remember something she'd said or done that contradicted his definition.

In short, he was afraid to look at her when he'd finished his story. No matter what she did, no matter how angry she was, he had to take it. There was nothing he could say—nothing he _would _say. She had every right to feel whatever she would feel, and he had no intention of trying to deny her.

It was true there were more details to cover—the reality of faking their deaths, how he convinced the Dark Lord not to kill her, an explanation of the Binding Spell—he even wanted to tell her about Ron. But the bulk of the message had been delivered.

It wasn't until he felt the oppressive weight of silence in the room that he realized he'd stopped talking. All through the story, Draco had kept his eyes fixed on a point on the wall behind Hermione and her parents. With great trepidation, he dared a look at her. She was literally gaping at him. If the situation weren't so serious he would've laughed.

When their eyes met, she seemed to snap out of her trance. She shut her mouth, but continued to stare at him as if he'd sprouted an extra head. A blue one. Which then in turn sprouted daisies. Then she turned away.

Draco broke his gaze with Hermione and looked at her parents. Jane was smiling at him kindly, while Steve was watching his daughter. Draco wanted more than anything at that moment to hear Hermione's voice. He'd been talking for nearly half an hour, with her parents interjecting occasionally, but for the most part leaving the telling to him.

When the silence became stifling, he cleared his throat. Hermione's eyes snapped back to his and she blinked.

Then Jane put her hand on Hermione's arm. "All right, Sweetheart?"

Hermione looked at her mother, tears in her eyes. She could only nod and then leaned her head against her mother, who put an arm around her daughter's shoulder and pulled her close.

"Hermione," said Draco, hoping he didn't sound too desperate. He needed to know what she was thinking, how she was feeling, what was running at what he knew would be light speed through her mind.

She shut her eyes tight and took several deep breaths. "Was there anything else?" she asked quietly, eyes still shut.

Her emotionless tone twisted something inside him painfully. _Anything _would have been better than that—yelling, crying, hexing him. But she just kept her eyes shut, waiting for him to continue.

He nodded. "I went to my house and retrieved the potion from my father's stores, then returned to your house. Your parents positioned themselves as you found them and then drank the potion. I waited for you to come home, after casting the Dark Mark over your house. I knew you would summon the Order when you saw it, so I also knew you wouldn't be alone when you entered."

"I found out which funeral home you'd be using and got a job there. I made sure I was on duty when the day of the viewing came. Once it was over, and everyone outside was ready to go to the gravesite, I slipped into the room, gave your parents the revival potion, and closed bags of dirt in the coffins before sealing them. We went to the burial site to make sure the plan went off with no bumps, and then I brought your parents here."

"I'd found this island in the few days between their 'deaths' and the funeral, and bought it. We spent a month building this house, and they've been here ever since."

Again Draco looked at Hermione, but she was staring at the door.

"You were _there_? For my parents' funeral?" she asked. Hermione's mind, which had been rendered useless during Draco's story, now started slowly coming alive. But everything else was still jumbled, and this was something she could focus on. Without looking at anything, she forced her mind to remember the day she buried her parents. She willed her mind to remember every detail possible; the room, the colors, the people—especially the people. There were so many people—former teachers, Harry, Ron and all the Weasleys, most of the Order, her parents' friends…surely she would remember if Malfoy had been there. Of course, he would have looked different. Perhaps he'd had his usual alias of black hair and blue eyes? She searched in her mind, but there was too much fog. She barely remembered waking up, getting dressed, and into the car that day, much less every person who attended. She sighed in frustration and looked at Draco. "I don't remember you."

"I didn't exactly come and introduce myself."

Now Hermione's mind was speeding through everything he'd told her. He had faked her parents' death. _He faked their death_. It didn't make sense. Why? Why?

"Why?" she demanded calmly. "Why did you do all this? Why did you fake their deaths?" Then she sat up and looked at her parents in turn. "And I cannot believe you did this! I can't believe what you put me through!" Hermione was surprised to find that she was now yelling at her parents.

"Oh, sweetheart," said Jane, giving her daughter a pained smile. "We knew it would be hard, but we had no choice. Draco gave us very few options, and he refused to fake your death as well. Said you wouldn't stay put."

Hermione continued to stare at her mother. "You're bloody _right_ I wouldn't have stayed put. I can't believe you even _considered _it. I would _not_ have taken kindly to being forced out of the world for two years." Her eyes were flashing as she spoke, but the fire quickly faded to sadness and she looked at her father. "But… I don't understand, why couldn't you have _told _me?" she asked.

Draco spoke. "If you'd had any idea at all, if you'd _known, _then it was bound to be found out. You would have mentioned it to someone, or else hinted it through your behavior. You were being watched, you know. By…us." He swallowed. "If you'd gone to your parents, if you'd let slip one errant word, one of the Death Eaters would have reported it to the Dark Lord and both you and I would have been killed."

"But…not my parents?"

"No, they were placed under the _Fidelius _Charm. Only I could reveal this location. If I were dead, however, the protection would have disappeared. The Dark Lord may or may not have bothered trying to find them."

"Oh," Hermione responded, slightly deflated. It was all just so very much to learn.

"Draco kept us updated regularly on how you were doing," Steve said.

Hermione turned on Draco, eyes blazing once again. "What?! You kept in touch with them?" Her mind started screaming again and fragments of conversations they'd had started coming together Her eyes widened. "Wait, that bird… New Zealand… Christmas!" She put her head in her hands and let out a few tears of frustration.

Oh, how Draco despised hurting her.

"Start talking, Malfoy!" she demanded.

He took another deep breath, ready for the plunge. "I was in contact with your parents the entire time. They would let me know when they needed supplies, and I'd either send them or bring them here myself. Last September, your parents asked if there was any way they could see you, so I set up that dinner in New Zealand. They were listening to our conversation."

At this revelation, Hermione gasped and put a hand to her mouth. "Oh! That's awful! Is that why you kept asking about my job and personal life?"

"Yes, so they would hear from you about your life."

Hermione shut her eyes tightly, and tried to remember that night. She knew she and Malfoy had fought; they always did. And of course, she'd cost him 1200 pounds. She looked at her father. "Oh, Dad, I'm so sorry I behaved so awfully! You have no idea how Malfoy and I were. I mean, I told you how mean we were to each other in school, but…."

"It's okay, honey," Jane said soothingly. "Draco warned us that you and he still didn't get along. Of course, we had no idea exactly how _much _you didn't get along, but it's okay. You thought he'd killed us, and he dragged you there, and… we understood."

Steve chuckled. "That little stunt you pulled. Made me proud."

Hermione forced a smile for her father, then turned back to Draco.

He took it as his cue to continue. "And Christmas. I spent two Christmases here, wishing it had been you instead of me."

She looked at him sadly. She remembered what he'd said when she asked if he were going home for the holiday. And a small part of her, the part that was trying hard to remember that she truly cared about Draco, loved him even, was glad that he had been with people who cared about him.

"And now, to answer your previous question. Why. I'm not sure this will make sense. I knew you'd ask that, and as I had lots of time to think while in Azkaban, this is the best I could come up with.

"Your parents gave me hope, a tiny sliver of hope that night. They gave me the reason I needed to move my life in a new direction. I was at the lowest I'd ever been that night, so low that I could go no lower. There had even been a moment, however brief, where I thought about just… stopping. Quitting."

"Oh," Hermione said softly, and he looked at her briefly. The look on her face was one of shared pain.

"But I couldn't do that, either. Thoughts like that scared me, and I ran as far from them as I could. Still, I was in a terrible place. Imagine I was in a very deep well. I could only just make out a light above me. I could stay in the bottom of that well, no relief or end in sight, or I could crawl toward that light with everything I had left. So I clung to that sliver, and when I woke up the next morning, I felt different. Not changed, not "reformed," but different. It was a small difference too: I didn't groan when I saw the sunlight peeking through my curtains. That's all it was. But I knew it was different, and that's all that mattered. I made my plan that very morning, before eating, dressing, anything, to get out from the prison I'd built for myself. That hope drove me. It pushed me to continue.

"I studied magic harder than I ever have, as many branches I could and especially those involving the mind, including Legilimency and Occlumency, so I would be able to protect myself from my Master and his piercing mind. I studied to find his weaknesses, and the weaknesses of my fellow sheep. I learned about as many of them I could; I worked my way up in the ranks with intelligence and cunning, proving myself to be valuable to my Master in many ways. Only from the top could I avoid such menial tasks as killing or torturing. And only from there could I truly study the Dark Lord and learn his mind.

"Gradually that sliver of hope grew until it became a reality. For a year and a half I worked to bring an end to the Dark Lord, and finally all my work was finished. I worked to think of every angle, every possibility I could. I made plans; I chose you and Harry to help me. You, in part because I was charged with protecting you, and could do that more easily if you were close by. I also knew I would be hunted once the Dark Lord learned of my desertion and I could not move about freely to watch over you. I had believed I had left him forever; however my father's rash actions in killing that family of Aurors, demanding my return, forced me to use one of the back-up plans I'd developed. You remember it, I'm sure."

He looked up and Hermione nodded mechanically.

"I had to assure the Dark Lord my absence was due to a cause other than desertion. Harry was an obvious choice; I had learned of the prophecies concerning him and the Dark Lord, and knew that no matter how much I learned, I would not be able to deal the deathblow. When everything had been made ready, I walked in to the Ministry to try and convince Harry to join me."

Hermione had once again been rendered speechless. He spoke with such poetry, grace, and fervor; she couldn't help but be caught up in his words. Again her brain picked one thing to focus on in his explanation. Protection.

"You speak of protecting me. You promised my parents you would. Yet I never saw you during that time, not once."

"That was the idea." Draco suddenly needed to move. His legs were cramped and his throat parched. "Hermione, would you like something to drink?"

She blinked. "Uhm, yes, please," she said, finding her throat dry as well.

Jane started to stand, but Draco bade her remain seated. "I need to stretch a bit, Jane. I'll get drinks. Would you like anything?" She shook her head. "Steve?"

"No, thank you, Draco."

Draco moved into the kitchen and pulled out two cups. He stared at the sink for a moment, then filled the cups with water and returned to the living room. He gave Hermione her glass and went to sit, but decided to remain standing.

"That was the idea," he said, starting where he'd left off. "You wouldn't have been too pleased if you found out I was anywhere near you. I simply made sure you got in and out of your flat safely, and to all destinations in between. I watched from afar. I never once had to accost a Muggle while you were under my care, or a witch or wizard, which was what I had expected to happen. Many Death Eaters urged the Dark Lord to take you or Ron captive in order to lure Harry.

"I knew he wouldn't attack you so long as he believed you would prove useful, but eventually, he decided to go after Ron."

Hermione gasped.

Draco nodded, knowing what she was thinking. "I was there when he was injured. I did all I could do to keep him alive. I'm sure you can understand how careful I had to be during that battle. When I saw him dueling with Rabastan, I sent a nasty curse at my uncle. It wouldn't kill him, but no one would know where it had originated."

He paused and took a deep breath. She wouldn't take his next words well. "It missed him and hit Ron instead, and he fell to the ground."

Hermione gasped and raised a hand to her face.

Draco continued quickly, wanting it to be over. "Rabastan was about to kill him when I ran over and called him away. From the way Ron looked, it was hard to tell if he was alive or not; I had to assume he was still alive, as I hadn't tried to kill Rabastan. I sent up sparks from Ron's location when I saw someone from the Order nearing him."

"Oh, Draco," Hermione whispered. She had wondered whether he had been there when Ron was hurt, but had never imagined he might have been the cause. To find out that he had been, no matter that it was unintentional, was hard. But Merlin, she'd forgiven him for far worse already and wouldn't let this stand in her way.

"For the most part, the Dark Lord had much bigger plans than Potter. He saw Harry only as a small nuisance, never a serious threat of any kind, until I told him about your supposed project. For a while, he worried about Harry, but when nothing came immediately from your project, he dismissed Harry as an immediate threat. With Dumbledore out of the way, he saw nothing to keep him from his ultimate schemes. He did not concern himself too much with Harry Potter, having fought him a few times and found him lacking.

"As I discussed with your parents, I had to convince the Dark Lord that you were more valuable alive than dead, to prevent my own death and in turn, yours. I made up a story that I'd found something in your room the night I went to kill you, a file from your work that described a research project being conducted by the Department of Mysteries."

"I didn't work for the Department of Mysteries," Hermione interrupted.

"I know that. I told my master that you were involved with the project and critical to it, the only person _not _an Unspeakable given access to it. This project was something—a device, a spell, a potion—to increase Harry's strength, accuracy and power, to aid in his battles with the Dark Lord. It would ultimately help Harry defeat him."

Hermione chuckled wryly.

Draco frowned. "What's funny?"

She looked at him intensely. "If you think about it, _you _were the secret project."

He blinked and let her observation sink in. Then he nodded. "That's…true. I hadn't thought of that before."

"I convinced him that through you, I could learn more details of the project and report those to my master. He believed me – I cannot tell you how terrified I was to lie to him, as this was the day following your parents' deaths."

"Had you ever lied to him before?" Hermione interrupted.

"Never."

"And…he didn't know?"

"I was somewhat skilled at Occlumency even then, thanks to Lucius' insistence. He didn't say anything immediately after I finished, but hopefully he attributed my fear to my failure to complete the mission rather than the fact that I was lying to him."

"It sounds…terrifying."

Draco nodded and looked at Jane. She and Steve were quiet, but Draco had expected them to be. They knew he had a lot of things to say and wanted to leave him to it, to tell his story in his own way.

"He put me in charge of watching over you as my punishment for not killing you, which went along perfectly with what your parents wanted me to do. I was to report to him any and all activity with respect to this project.

"Over the past two years, I've fed him false information about that project. After a while, when nothing materialized, he pushed it from the forefront of his mind. He had much bigger things to attend to. However, I still gave him a report every two months, full of lies. In that way, I was able to convince the Dark Lord to keep you alive.

"As soon as I knew that he believed me that first, most terrifying day, I made arrangements for your parents. As I said before, I retrieved them from the funeral home, we went to the gravesite, and then I brought them straight here, where I'd already collected tents and enough supplies for a month.

"After a few weeks, I returned and we started work on this house. I don't think I slept at all that first month—from watching over you, building this house, working for the Dark Lord, and being utterly sure he would find out and kill me."

"He's dead, you know," Steve interrupted.

Everyone looked at him.

"Draco, we've heard you refer to that madman as 'the Dark Lord' and your 'Master' for two years. He's _not _your master anymore."

Hermione looked back at Draco. "He's right, you know. You can say his name."

Draco looked at her. "That…will take some effort. It's hard enough saying _your _name."

She reddened and looked down at her hands.

Draco looked back at Steve. "But thank you for reminding me. You're right; I'm no longer bound to him."

"Do you still have your Mark?" Jane asked.

Hermione looked up again, waiting.

Slowly Draco nodded and pulled up his sleeve.

"That doesn't make sense," said Hermione. "Before, the Mark disappeared. It's the reason they weren't able to tell who'd been a Death Eater and who hadn't."

Draco shrugged. "He also didn't actually _die _last time. I know very little about this particular spell. Regardless, it is still quite visible."

"Did it…hurt? When he died, did you feel it?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, and it did hurt. It felt as though my arm was on fire. But I didn't think about it too much at the time as I had to help Harry. The pain passed quickly."

"That's good," said Jane kindly.

Hermione shook her head. "I—I can't—Harry believed you? Is this what you told Harry that day in his office? That you hadn't killed my parents?"

"Yes, for the most part. At first, when I told him, he laughed outright—as perhaps was to be expected. But I managed to convince him and then he got really quiet and let me just talk. I told him all about what happened that night, and what I'd been doing for the last year and a half before going to him, including everything I'd done for you. He was…stunned. Still didn't quite believe me, kept saying it was some kind of trick. I'd taken a photo with me to the Ministry that day of me with your parents. A Muggle photo at that, taken here on the island. That was what finally convinced him, I think."

So Harry had known, all along, and he'd said nothing. Hermione shut her eyes tight.

"Remember, Harry had taken a Vow," said Draco. "He _couldn't _tell you."

She nodded. "Doesn't make it much easier."

"Blame me," he said. "Don't be angry with Harry."

Hermione sniffed. Easier said than done. She was feeling so many things for Draco at that moment she wasn't sure what was real. And being angry with Harry allowed her to postpone thinking about Draco.

"What—about the spell?" she asked.

"The Binding Spell," Draco said with a nod. "I cast it in order to protect you, as I wasn't able to be around you at all times. I bound you to me so that I would know, in the blink of an eye, if you were ever in danger. The spell sensed your fear. That's how Harry and I came to rescue you when my father attacked you." He sat down and looked intently into Hermione's eyes. "And if I hadn't been asleep, I would have known about his presence long before I did and we might have prevented him from hurting you at all. I'm so sorry."

She shook her head, dazed. "But how did you perform that spell? It is supposed to require the participation of both parties."

He smiled slightly. "I…managed," he said. "I did what I had to do in order to cast the spell."

"But still," she protested, shaking her head. "You needed _me. _How did you do it?"

"Please, let this go," Draco said, almost pleadingly. Though he had no intention of lying to Hermione, there were a few things he wasn't completely ready to tell her. "It—it was quite complicated. I know you want to understand, and I _want _to explain it all, just...just not now, okay?"

"Why not? You're telling me everything else?" she asked stubbornly.

Draco sighed. "I am not trying to duck out, I – I'm about talked out, to be honest. Maybe...tomorrow I can go into detail, before I return to England, but suffice it to say that I had to tweak the spell so that I could do it without your express involvement. It required magic in its most basic form and a fundamental understanding of magical theory. The enunciation of spells is a very tricky thing. I was lucky, and there was still that side effect."

"The warning, as you put it." Hermione shivered at the memory of last time they'd touched. The kiss alone had been incredible, but coupled with the energy surge; she had felt as though she would implode from the sensations.

"That's my best guess as to its purpose. I will remove the spell now, if you wish."

Something made her hesitate. She feared it would be the first step to the end, that he would be free to step out of her life. "Not now. Tell me how you knew about Harry and Ginny."

"Oh right. It's quite simple, really, compared to everything else. One night after I'd seen you safely home, I saw them walking toward your place. I stayed within hearing distance and used an extendable ear to eavesdrop. They mentioned it; Ginny wanted to tell you, but Harry absolutely forbade it."

"That's _it_?" she asked, almost disappointed. Once again they seemed to be at the end.

"That's it. Not too exciting."

Hermione sat back in her seat, untold emotions and thoughts running through her like the swirling water retreating from the beach. Her parents were alive. Draco hadn't killed them. He'd watched over them, as he had with her, and they really and truly _cared_ about him. He'd done this – _why_?

"I'm…trying to understand everything completely," Hermione said. "You did this—faked my parents' death, plotted against Voldemort, watched over me—all for yourself. To get out of the life you chose because you no longer wanted it. Why did you go about it in such a complicated way?"

He shrugged. "It just happened that way, I suppose. You know what I was involved in, you know the consequences of trying to get out. The night I went to your house, I was ready for something to change and I was almost to the point of not caring how. Your parents provided a start to the turn, and gave me a reason to keep living: you. Your mother was right, watching over you and then caring about you was what got me through the hardest times."

She stared at him. He'd just admitted he cared about her. It was something, at least, as he'd never gave any real indication of his feelings. They'd kissed, and she _thought _he cared for her, but to hear him say it…despite everything she'd learned that he'd done, she had to fight to keep the smile off her face. It emboldened her. "When did you start…uh…_caring_? About me…"

Draco reddened then and gulped down the rest of his water. He couldn't look at Steve or Jane—or Hermione for that matter—and again chose a spot on the wall to stare at. "I—I suppose I, um, started to…_care_…about you—or, really, what _happened _to you—during the time I watched you. Not at first, of course, but I came to understand you a little bit. I came to care when you were happy or sad, and I genuinely cared about what happened in your life. But I couldn't stand being around you once you and Harry moved in. You acted the same toward me as you always had, though I shouldn't have expected anything different. I put up with it because I could remember what you were like when no one was watching. Except me, of course."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You were like… like a stalker!"

"No, no, no!" he said hastily, shaking his head, agitated. Not at all! I didn't—_watch_ you all the time, in your flat, nothing like that," Draco was turning redder. "I just made sure you got home safely. But sometimes you'd stop in shops or the like on your way home. That's where I learned about you." He was horrified at what she must think. "No, no, nothing like that. Please believe me."

She nodded, still a little unsure. "Okay, I do," she said weakly.

"Hermione," said Steve. "We trusted him with your safety. I believe him, and so does your mother."

"It's something he's always been worried about, that when you finally found out, that you would see him that way," added her mother.

"But – no, Hermione. Never," Draco insisted.

She nodded again, more accepting. "Uhm, is that all, then?"

"I think so," said Draco with a heavy sigh. Only then did he notice that the sun had set, the dinner Jane had prepared was most certainly cold, and only a few candles lit the room. Hermione and her parents suddenly seemed to notice these things as well. "I'll remove the spell now," he said. "Outside."

Hermione nodded reluctantly and hesitantly followed him out the door. She felt so weak, so out of sorts. She was surprised that her legs could support her, much less carry her across the room.

Outside the sky was starting to turn midnight blue, the final touches of the sun retreating out of sight. A cool breeze blew and she turned to let it blow through her hair. The air smelled like the sea by the Edge and when she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend she was there. The crashing of the waves on the beach wasn't as violent and final as the waves that crashed on the cliff face; it was still soothing, just differently. Hermione still preferred the angrier, greyer sea in Wales, but this calmer, warmer ocean was beautiful too.

Draco shifted his weight and the sound brought her out of her thoughts and she opened her eyes. He was looking at her strangely, skeptically.

"What?" she asked.

Draco shook his head. "Nothing." He took out a small stone from his pocket. He pointed his wand at the stone and muttered, "_De Adnexus._" The stone disintegrated, leaving behind only dust and a few hairs. He turned his hand over to let gravity do its job, and they watched the dust fall to the sand. Then Draco looked at Hermione and held up his hand, his palm facing her.

She looked at it, puzzled, but slowly brought hers up to meet it. When they touched there was no energy surge, as there had always been, but there was something else and they both felt it. It wasn't jolting or overpowering, but it was just as intense, just as staggering, if not more so, than the surge. Hermione avoided Draco's eyes and put her hand back at her side.

"Guess you were right about the side effect," she said, opening the door. He nodded. When she was halfway inside, she turned around. "Uhm, Draco?"

"Yes?" he asked, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe.

"I'm going to need some time. To digest all this."

"I figured as much. Take whatever time you need. I'll sleep outside tonight, you can have the other room."

"What is it with you and small houses?" she asked, smiling a little. "I would've expected a great, twelve bedroom estate with a perfect English garden and fountain out here."

He glanced inside through the crack in the door and saw Hermione's parents sitting on the sofa and talking quietly. "You can't feel so alone in a small place," he said.

She looked at him and wondered a thousand things at once—what his life had been like growing up in a huge, cold, empty house; what he hoped his life would be like now; if he'd return to the Edge or move somewhere else once his probation was complete. She said nothing though, still too overcome to really feel confident that she could adequately express her feelings. She gave him a small smile. "I think I'll sleep outside. You know I like to."

"Are you sure? Because I really don't mind."

"Yeah. You take the room."

"Okay," he said.

She opened the door to let him into the house, but he told her he needed to walk. He knew she needed time with her parents and it would be best if she knew he couldn't overhear whatever they might discuss.

Draco waited a few hours, even fell asleep for a few minutes in the hammock, before going back inside. Hermione and her parents were talking quietly in the living room. He nodded, said goodnight, and went to his room. He sat down on the bed in his room and his mind went to the conversation with Hermione. It hadn't gone as badly as it might have; she hadn't screamed at him, or cursed him, or even cried really. It could have been much worse. Still, she hadn't really said anything. Just asked questions and absorbed the answers. But really, what else did he expect? It would take time for her to digest it all, and he would give her that time. And space.

He lay down on the bed now, looking up at the ceiling. He glanced at the dresser where the ugly little broom from Harry sat, and pointed his wand at it and sent it flying around the room. It flashed and made cheering sounds, making him smile a little. Draco watched the broom fly around his room until his eyes became unfocused.

A rumbling in his stomach brought Draco out of his trance. He realized he hadn't eaten dinner, and was deciding what he should do about it when there was a knock on his door. He stood up and opened it a crack. Hermione was standing on the other side holding a plate.

"I thought you might be hungry," she said.

He smiled and opened the door. "I was just thinking about food. Thank you." Draco took the plate and sat down on his bed to eat.

Hermione looked around the room, thinking how small it must be compared to what he'd been used to, growing up. Then she noticed the flying broom.

"What is that?" she asked, pointing.

Draco looked up. "Christmas present from Harry. It's quite annoying sometimes."

"I would think so."

Hermione remained standing while Draco ate. He noticed that she didn't seem to want to leave. "Er…you're welcome to come in, make yourself comfortable. Sit, if you want." He started to stand, to let her sit on his bed, but she shook her head and went to sit in the window, still without speaking.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Is there something you wanted to talk about?"

"What?" she said, looking at him. "Oh, well, I don't know. It seems like there should be, doesn't it?"

"I don't know, what do you mean?"

"I mean, after everything that just happened, everything you've told me…it seems like we should be having this enormous conversation about it."

"I'm more than willing to discuss anything you wish. Was there something in particular?" he asked.

"That's just it," Hermione said with a slight chuckle. "I—I have no idea what to say, where to start."

"I think you need more time," Draco offered.

"See, I'm not sure! I just don't know. One moment I think I need more time, then next moment I feel as though I can't wait another moment."

"For what?"

She shook her head. "Whatever comes next. And I have no idea what that might be. You answered all my questions; I just feel as though I'm ready to move forward, but I'm not sure where I'm going. And I have no idea how to get there."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, just…_something_," she said, feeling slightly frustrated. She turned and looked out the window. The steady beat of the waves calmed her and she looked back at him. "You don't feel it?"

"Well, I keep waiting for you to hex me or scream at me, so in a way I feel it."

Hermione smiled. "I'm not going to hex you. Or scream. I think. I don't know. Is there anything left for us to say?"

Draco looked at her incredulously. He understood she might not want to talk about…everything that had thus far remained unsaid between them, but _surely _she must at least _know_. He had questions of his own that needed answering. Could she forgive him? Did she hate him? Would she want him in her life? Did she ever want to kiss him again? Would she even want to be friends?

He shook his head. It certainly wouldn't help anything to think about kissing her. Even though at that moment, she was sitting in his window, bathed in moonlight, her large curls blowing in the sea breeze, with a calm yet remote expression on her face—the perfect moment to tell her—again—how sorry he was, how much she meant to him, and how much he wanted to mean something to her.

He didn't know what to say. He really didn't. So he told her that.

Hermione sighed. "I guess there's no great conversation then."

"Guess not," he repeated, an odd sense of disappointment filling him. He'd thought—maybe. "If I may, I have a question," he said after a moment.

"Okay," she said.

"What did you tell your parents about me?"

She frowned and cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"When I went to your house that night, they said you'd told them all about me. What had you said?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh. That. Well…sometimes I talked about work," she said, not looking at him.

"And?" he prompted.

She sighed. "And…you were part of work. Though I talked about you more than any other of my cases, it still wasn't very much. One night, soon after sixth year ended, Harry and Ron were over, and we started talking about that night on the Tower, and my parents asked what had become of you."

"Why?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I'm not sure, though if I had to guess, I'd say because they're very caring people in general. And…we'd discussed our theories about you in their hearing. That we didn't think you were completely evil, that you _didn't _kill Dumbledore after all, that you'd been coerced."

He swallowed hard. "Oh."

"Of course, as soon as your name starting appearing the Prophet, linked to the usual Death Eater activity—murder, torture, all of that—we stopped saying anything nice about you at all. But…they still asked."

_Oh._

He looked away from her and felt slightly sick. He'd done such horrible things…He set the fork down and looked past her. "Thank you."

She stood. "Just figured you might be hungry."

"I'm…glad you at least don't hate me. Since you made sure I was properly fed."

Hermione laughed a little. "I don't hate you." She stood and walked toward him. "I'll take your plate."

"Oh, right." He handed it to her, and she left the room without another word.

**ooo**

**A/N: **Oh wow, only one more chapter! Thank you SO much to everyone who has been following this story! I want to say thanks for all the wonderful "deleted scene" requests I got for the last chapter! I'm going to have a lot of fun with them. If you still want to request one, go right ahead.

Some of you have mentioned that you hope I"ll write another D/Hr story—don't worry! I'm not going anywhere. I have a few things in mind, and a few stories very close to being ready for posting. And another long one in the works. You make me feel all special because you want me to keep at this, and I certainly intend to. Thank you!

I'll probably have a lot more to say next week. AH:)


	35. By Starlight

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter. Everything belongs to JKR. 

**Note**: Incredible thanks to eilonwy, my beta, for making me make this story so much better. Chapter title is from a song of the same title by the Smashing Pumpkins.

**ooo **

**Chapter 35 – By Starlight**

By starlight I know you  
As lovely as a wish granted true  
My life has been empty, my life has been untrue  
And does she really know, who I really am?  
Does she really know me at last

_Smashing Pumpkins, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness_

_…_

Draco couldn't sleep. For one, he wasn't adjusted to the time change, and his body still thought it was five in the afternoon, instead of midnight. His mind was also running a mile a minute about Hermione. He replayed everything that had happened that day, trying to find some reason to think she might forgive him. But she'd been guarded, and closed. He couldn't find much of…anything. Nothing bad, but nothing good, either.

He decided to take a dip in the ocean to clear his boiling mind. He pulled off his shirt and pants and put on swim shorts. Then he slipped out the open window and ran full speed straight for the water, diving in. The cold water shocked his system and he felt invigorated.

When he surfaced, he continued swimming against the tide for as long as he had the strength. When his aching arms refused to take another stroke, Draco rolled onto his back and floated, looking up at the stars. He tried not to think about the events of the day, though they inevitably made appearances in his train of thought.

When the cold water eventually became painful, Draco summoned his broom, hoping it wouldn't wake anyone. He climbed onto it when it reached him and dried himself, then flew around lazily, just above the surface of the water for a while before Transfiguring it into a float. Then he lay on the float and continued watching the stars turn, letting his fingers skim the surface of the water.

Hermione had been…very calm, all through his telling and after. Even though she'd assured him she wasn't going to curse him, he was still waiting for something, like she'd said. There was…something else to say, he knew it. He just wished he knew what it was. But things were in her control, so to speak. He'd given everything over to her—the truth, his truth, her parents. And she had to know how he felt about her, though he wasn't sure that was even a fair consideration at this point. She'd need time to deal with everything else first; then he could think about the other.

Only…he wasn't even sure what he wanted. Sure, he loved her, and wanted her to love him back, but beyond that, he had no idea what he was doing. The idea of a relationship… He shivered at the thought as a cool breeze blew around him. Now that his life, his future, was open before him—now that he could be and do and was finally free, he was forced to think of Hermione in a completely new way. She wasn't the woman he didn't want to want; she wasn't the one he worked beside toward a common, scary goal. She wasn't even the woman he tucked in every night. She was a woman. And it was scary.

Because now…could he be the man she needed? He hadn't the slightest idea at all. Would she even want that?

He wondered what she talked about with her parents. He hoped they reassured her, and made her feel better the way they had for him so many times.

Finally, Draco felt tired. He sighed and rolled off the float into the water. Then he returned the float to its original state and slowly made his way toward the island. He wasn't really thinking anymore, or paying attention to what was going on around him, in part because he didn't really expect anything to be going on.

So as he neared the beach, he was surprised to see the outline of a figure wearing pajamas sitting near the water's edge, her bare feet just being ticked by receding waves. He sped his flight and when he was over the sand, he dismounted and slowly walked toward the figure.

Hermione had been unable to sleep as well, when Draco's broom had flown out of the house and out over the water. Hermione knew Draco must be awake too, and finding that she needed to see him, she got up from her chair and went to wait for him.

Draco sat down beside her, a few feet between them, the silver moon making his pale skin glow. He didn't say anything, and he wondered if she really wanted him there at all or just wanted him to leave. After a few minutes, he decided to go, but just then she spoke.

"Hey."

"Hi," he replied.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither."

"I saw your broom fly out of the house."

"I hope it didn't wake you up."

She shook her head. "I was awake."

"Good."

They sat in comfortable silence, the moon nearly set.

"I cannot believe how amazing it is here at night," said Hermione, looking up at the clear night sky. "The stars are like diamonds, and the moon is so beautiful reflected in constant motion on the water." She lay down on the beach, better able to look up at the sky. "I think if I lived here I would sleep during the day and stay awake all night."

Draco hesitated, then lay down as well, looking again at the stars he'd been watching while over the water. Draco's heart was heavy. He wanted desperately to say the right thing, the perfect thing. But nothing he thought of seemed adequate.

"Draco?" she said.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

He turned his head to look at her. She looked beautiful beyond anything he'd ever seen, her hair surrounding her face. She was smiling sweetly, but he also saw a tear snaking its way down her cheek to fall on the sand. "For what?"

"Not killing them."

Draco turned back to the sky. There was nothing he could say; nothing would be enough to say.

They lay beside each other, watching the stars. After maybe fifteen minutes, during which he tried desperately to think of something to say but only succeeded in thinking of all the things not to say, Draco looked at Hermione again. Her eyes were closed and she looked as though she'd fallen asleep.

He started to get up, but Hermione quickly reached her hand out and grabbed his. "Wait, don't go," she said softly. Draco reclined beside her again, and he noticed she still held onto his hand.

"So where are your stars?" she asked.

"Granger, I know I'm rich, but I don't actually own any stars," he said playfully.

"Oh stop it," she said, smiling. "You know what I mean. Draco—the dragon. It's a constellation." She frowned. "Do you think we can see it here? Come to think of it, I don't really know where 'here' is."

"We're on the Pacific Ocean. There's nothing around for hundreds of miles."

"So can we see it?"

"I'm not sure," he said, looking around the night sky as if expecting it to show itself to them.

"We'll have to look it up," said Hermione. Then she interlaced her fingers with his, sending sparks through his body and his insides into a frenzy. It was the smallest touch, so simple and innocent, yet it made him feel like the luckiest man on the planet.

"Okay," he managed to say. After a few minutes of silence, during which his nerves grew increasingly raw, he turned to look at her. "Hermione?"

"Yes?" she said, meeting his gaze.

"Are you okay? I mean, really okay?"

She smiled at him warmly. "Yes, Draco, I am." She looked away from him. "I mean, today was insane. I tried to figure out what all your secrets were. I mean, I never went snooping, or anything, but I thought about them a lot. I would never in a million years have imagined that—this—is what you were keeping from me. My parents are alive. You didn't actually kill them. Then there's also the news that I had a stalker for nearly two years—"

"I was NOT a stalker!"

"—and now I'm lying on the beach of a private tropical island in the early hours of morning staring at the stars." With you, she added to herself. "I'm very okay."

"I was not a stalker."

Hermione laughed. It was such a melodious sound, full of joy and life; it made him smile. "You had some stalker-like attributes."

He scowled. "Do stalkers follow their targets around to make sure they stay safe? No."

"But I can't help noticing similarities. I mean, you took a flat across the street from mine. That's total stalker activity," she said, and Draco could hear the laughter in her voice.

He said nothing, but continued scowling, trying to think of something to say.

"Okay, so maybe you weren't a stalker. More of a guardian angel."

"Hardly an angel. Probably the farthest thing from it, really. A guardian demon, maybe."

"Don't be so dramatic. Let's just say you were a guardian."

"Fine." They were silent for a few moments more. "I was afraid you would hate me."

She laughed again. "Not likely."

"So, you forgive me then?"

"Draco, I forgave you for killing them; of course I forgive you for not killing them. There is, however, the matter of the pain you put me through, but really…" she trailed off and looked away from him. Then after a moment she took a deep breath and looked back at him, her voice stronger. "But really, what is life without pain? You've also given me the greatest happiness at having them back, so it all balances out. Life is worth it."

He chuckled at her words and the absolute truth he found in them.

Hermione's stomach clenched. She was about to ask him what she'd been longing and dreading to ask since the end of Voldemort. She knew that two kisses and holding hands meant nothing in the long show of things, and Draco Malfoy was so complicated and mysterious and barricaded that one might never get through the barbed gates.

She tried to say it nonchalantly, as if it were a passing thought. "So, what now?"

"What now, what?" he said, not understanding the question.

"What happens now? With us?"

Draco's throat went dry, as if he'd just swallowed a mouthful of the sand he was lying on. He felt her hand move, as if not sure what it should do. Us. Such a small word. A small, terrifying word. "Uhm, I've never been in an 'us' before."

"You are nearly twenty-two, Malfoy. I'd say it's about time, wouldn't you?" Her heart was nearly pounding itself out of her chest; she could barely hear her own voice it was so loud. She sounded so calm, but inside she was raging with anticipation and anxiety.

Draco couldn't really think clearly. This was the last conversation he imagined he would be having with her after the what he'd put her through.

"Say something," she said.

"I'm really messed up."

"I know," she said with a smile.

"Thanks," he said, shutting his eyes tight.

"I don't care, you know?"

"But I'm really messed up. More than anyone you probably know."

"Maybe. But who isn't really messed up? In some way, I mean. No one's got it completely together."

He paused to think. "Everyone has something, you're right. But – you know, I have lots of big things. Like trust, and emotions, and distorted views of how things should be. I'm not a good person, Hermione, and you deserve someone who is."

"Why aren't you a good person?" she asked, propping herself on her elbow and looking down at him.

"Do I really need to give you a list of reasons?" She didn't say anything, just looked at him expectantly. He shut his eyes tight and sighed. "Okay, here goes. I grew up hating anything and everything that wasn't 'pure'. I—"

"You don't now, though."

"No, but I'm not exactly Mr. Friendly-with-Mudbloods, either."

"You're nice to me."

"Sometimes," he said, smiling.

"Please continue."

"Okay, I treated you, Harry and Ron horribly in school for six years."

"That's in the past. Harry and I have moved past it, and Ron has started to. He'll be just as okay with you as Harry and me once he gets to know you better."

His heart constricted at the idea that these people wanted him in their lives now. That wasn't something he'd anticipated when he started all of this. He'd just wanted to get out from under the death sentence he'd readily accepted and move on with what little life he could salvage. Now he had people – friends? – who wanted him to stick around.

"I joined the Death Eaters at sixteen."

"Well, now that was just plain stupid."

He laughed. "Agreed. But it proves I'm not a good person."

"No, it proves that at sixteen, you were stupid."

"I tried to kill Dumbledore, almost killing Ron and Katie Bell in the process."

"You weren't successful in any of those attempts."

Draco sat up again, wrapping his arms around his legs. "I wanted to get out that night. Dumbledore offered me a way. I would've taken it but the Death Eaters I'd let into the school interrupted."

"See? Even then you wanted better for yourself."

"But I didn't take it. I could've left Snape, gone somewhere else after that night, but I didn't. I went straight to him." Draco paused, his throat suddenly constricted. This was the thing that still haunted his dreams, even after all the other monsters had been quashed. "And—and then he made me kill Severus, right there in front of everyone. For doing my job."

He took a deep breath, feeling the beginnings of renewal once again. He'd never even told the Grangers about Snape. "I—If I hadn't, he would've killed me, and I couldn't leave my mother alone without me or my father. Severus…he just stood there and stared at me. He couldn't speak, but I think he tried to get into my head. He—he said…"

Hermione hesitantly reached for his hand, pulling it away from him and slowly, softly rubbing his palm.

"He told me it was okay. And then…I looked him in the eye and…did as I was told." His voice cracked and he stopped, blinking furiously and clenching his jaw repeatedly to avoid letting his emotions overtake him.

Hermione was silent. Draco had never shared any of this with her. They had never talked about the past, what had happened with him; how he'd started down the road leading to death.

"So that was my first. Severus Snape. My favorite teacher, the only person I actually admired. I know he wasn't your favorite person, I admit he was quite awful to you, but he watched out for me, talked to me like a person and he gave me advice, like a father. My father certainly never wasted his breath on me," he said bitterly. "Snape really tried to keep me away from that life, but I was young and stubborn and didn't want to listen to him tell me what I didn't want to hear."

Hermione stared at their hands, still joined. She absently ran her fingers through his and gave them a small squeeze.

He looked at her. "Do I need to continue?"

"That's all in the past," she reminded him quietly. "Though I don't want to downplay its significance in your life. But what about the last two years? You've been plotting Voldemort's demise! You did a wonderful thing for the whole world."

"Just because I didn't kill again after faking your parents' deaths doesn't mean I didn't do horrible things. I still served him loyally, never giving him any reason to doubt me."

"Okay," she said, determined to get him to see what she'd come to see. "But you had to do those things, you had to keep up the illusion that you were still completely working for Voldemort."

He looked at her sharply. "You're making excuses for me."

"No. You did what you had to. Look where you are now, what you've accomplished! For the last eight months I have seen for myself that you are a good person."

"I did good things," he said, increasingly frustrated that she wouldn't simply let it go. In addition, it was difficult to bring up the list of his many sins, to discuss them, describe them for her to see. Of all people, she shouldn't have to hear what he'd done. He wanted to protect her from the world, from all the bad things. Himself included. "Maybe you could call it that, but my heart is still black. Everything I did was for selfish reasons, for me, for making my life better in the end. Not for the good of the many."

She felt the weight of all he'd done resting on her shoulders. It was so heavy; she felt as though she was at the bottom of the ocean and the weight of all the water above her was slowly crushing her lungs. This was what he'd lived with for so long. She wanted to take his hurt, take his pain and Vanish all of it, to be the one to show him how amazing a life unburdened could be. "What about all the good things you did for me? Keeping me safe, watching over me."

"I told you. Selfish."

"No, I don't believe it. Every night when you made sure I was sleeping safely and I was warm and comfortable, you did that for me. Not for you." She had to make him see!

He peered into her swirling eyes, looking for something he knew was there, and then he saw it; a small flicker of hope. Hope. He could crush her hope with a mere word if he wanted. But he didn't want to. She believed there was something in him worth fighting for, something that had been buried and smothered and gasping for breath for as long as he could remember. And he found he didn't want to let her down. He wanted to try and be that person she thought he could be; as he'd promised her before, he wanted to live for her. He knew it would be hard, harder than anything he'd ever done his whole life, but he knew that it was more than worth it.

"Maybe," was all he could give her right then.

"I know it."

If he was going to do this, he had to make sure she was sure. "Hermione, you still deserve someone better. Someone who knows how to make you feel special, like you're the most important thing in his life."

"You do make me feel special, Draco. You're endlessly romantic in your own way, you know." She smiled at him shyly.

He raised an eye at her. "Romantic? Are you daft?"

"I mean it."

He shook his head. "No way. I wouldn't even know what that looked like if it weren't for your silly movie."

She hit his chest playfully. "It's not silly."

"Is too. Magic. That's ridiculous."

She rolled her eyes and looked out at the water.

"I'm messed up, Hermione. And I will only mess this up. I'm certain of that."

"I will too, though," she said earnestly. "It's what these things are all about. You'll mess up, I'll mess up, but it works when we both decide that we want to mess up again, together."

"Why would you—anyone—do that?"

She looked at him pointedly. "Because you know that you're better together than apart."

He shook his head. "I still cannot believe this is the conversation we're having."

"What else is there? Everything else has been discussed. I'm afraid you're going to disappear, ride off into the sunset on a shining black horse, or fly into the sun or all the way to the moon. And leave…me, without a second thought." She couldn't look at him, her heart was too near breaking at the thought.

"I could never leave you without a second thought," he said quietly.

Hermione sat up fully now, pulling her knees to her chest and holding them there with her arms. Draco missed her hand in his, and he watched her face as emotions flickered across it like flames of a fire, dancing across the walls.

"But you could leave."

"Of course. It's who I am."

She closed her eyes tightly.

"But I never said I wanted to, I just could. If I wanted. Which I don't." He toward her. "I don't want to leave you. Okay?"

She nodded, still not looking at him.

He sighed. "I just can't give you what you deserve."

"I don't need all that. I mean, I don't deserve you, ever think of that?"

No, he honestly hadn't, nor would the thought have ever crossed his mind. "And how do you figure that?"

"You treat me like no one ever has. You stand up to me; you don't just give in and let me do or have what I want, like Harry and Ron. You're smarter than me, and you challenge me. You always put me first, even when it means making me as angry as a blast-ended skrewt. And you don't back down when I'm being impossible. I respect that."

Draco was amazed at how much she got out of his small actions toward her. And he was stunned to find that her impressions were accurate. He did have a habit of thinking about her before himself, he just never thought it was because he cared about her. There was always some other reason to assign to his actions. Like protecting her, or protecting his plan, or Harry, or their work, or something.

"You're still way better than me," he insisted.

"I'm not perfect, and I never will be, Draco. And I don't expect you to be."

"Good," he said, grinning. "Then you won't be disappointed."

"Is there anything else you want to say?" she asked, her eyes sparkling. "Though there's nothing you can say that will make me change my mind about this. Or about you.

He thought hard. Were there any objections his mind could raise? "One thing. And I've wanted to say this, officially, for a long time, but I wasn't even sure it needed saying. But I think maybe it does. For the record, you have to know that the blood thing isn't an issue. It hasn't been a concern for me for a long time."

"Good. But I already figured that."

He thought hard again. "What if I end up hurting you? Which I'm fairly certain is how this will turn out. I have no idea what I'm doing, I've never done this before, and I'm quite sure I will be horrible at it."

"You're a Malfoy. I thought you were good at everything you did."

He smiled and looked at her; she was grinning at him. He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Then another. And then he found that there were too many strands and too few ears.

"It's a hopeless cause," she said.

"Yes, I'm a Malfoy. Doesn't that bother you? At all?"

"Why should it? I know all about what you've done, what you've been through. At least, I know intellectually. And if you want to share more with me, then fine; if not, fine. I still want to see where this goes."

"In spite of me."

"Because of you."

"But I will hurt you."

"You already have, plenty! And you will again, as I will you. That's what makes it so wonderful. Because even though you'll hurt me, I will forgive you. And you will forgive me when I hurt you. And we'll move on."

He couldn't think of any more objections; she'd answered every one he'd offered, making him happy and terrified at the same time.

"Hermione, I – "

"Draco, I am not asking for a confession of undying devotion. All I want to know is if you want to take this chance with me. Because that's all life is anyway, taking chances."

A slow grin spread across his heart, then his mind, and finally his face. "Yes. I do. With you."

She smiled back at him. "Right answer, Malfoy."

He looked at her hard, still not sure she really knew what she was getting into, but then she was too stubborn for her own good sometimes. And he'd heard somewhere once that if you don't know something isn't supposed to work, you just might make it happen. He kissed her then, and when she kissed him back, he felt complete. It was soft, hesitant, shy—as though they were finally getting to really know each other. And though it was very different from the previous two, which had been full of desperation, fear, and intense desire, it still sent his insides catapulting in a hundred directions.

After a few minutes, she pulled back, slightly breathless. "I thought you removed that spell from between us."

"I did," he said, equally enthralled with her. "It must be that magic stuff you've been going on about."

"It must be," she said, completely content. Draco kissed her forehead and then drew her close to him, wrapping his arms around her. She put her head on his shoulder and he didn't think he'd ever be able to let her go.

He sighed. "I'm going to mess this up, you know," he said.

"I know."

"So…you're okay with that."

"We've been over this already…"

"But I'm just—"

Hermione tipped his chin toward her. "No—More—Talking," she said, punctuating each word with a soft kiss.

Just as she was about to pull back, Draco reached up and stopped her. He held her face a few inches from his own and peered into her eyes. They were smiling and radiant, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to drown in them. Slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, he pulled her closer until there was only a hairsbreadth between them and paused. He could feel her breath on his lips before he kissed her. It was like the sunrise, or fireworks, or a flower bursting into bloom; it was like flying and falling and forgetting that you were two people and knowing that life was better that way.

All that mattered was that she wanted to try this thing with him. He'd promised her once through a kiss that he would live for her. Now he would keep his promise.

**The End**

**A/N: **And so, my dear reviewers, the story ends…or does it:)

Surprise! I could not leave my two favorite characters on a dessert island, suspended in "what happens" land. There will be an epilogue, and let me tell you, it is long. It likely will not be ready for posting next Friday, so I do apologize for that, but certainly the Friday after.

And then, of course, I'll post the deleted scenes, but they'll be in a new story. So you'll have to keep checking for them. But don't start yet, I won't start posting those until after the epilogue. I will certainly keep you posted on my profile page.

What an amazing ride this has been! Each and every one of you have made it a blast. I cannot thank you enough. I wish I could thank all of you individually, but that would take up a lot of room here. Suffice it to say, you have made this journey complete for me. There are simply no words to adequately express how very much you have all come to mean to me, especially those of you who review constantly. I feel as though I know some of you and I certainly count some of you as friends.

Thank you, merci, grazie, gracias, danke, doh je. Oh, and I do hope you liked the ending. Stay tuned for more!


	36. I Am the Ocean

**Disclaimer: **This is the last time I'm going to say it! I don't own Harry Potter!

**Note: **Chapter title comes from the song "The Ocean" by Dar Williams. Infinite thanks to eilonwy for being the best beta in the world. Much more lavish praise on my LJ. :)

**ooo **

**Epilogue: I Am the Ocean**

Draco Malfoy was reclining on the large swing on the back porch of his house, reading a book his wife had recommended. Jokingly, he'd told her he didn't need to read it because he'd already seen the movie. She'd given him one of her looks and said, "Books are better than movies." She was rarely wrong, and this was no exception. He'd started the book the day before and was already two-thirds of the way through it.

He knew he wouldn't be able to finish it that day as it was nearly two in the afternoon and their guests would be arriving at three.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

When he heard his son's voice, his heart swelled to near bursting. He tried to listen to the small voice as it made its way through the house, until he heard the porch door open slowly. He knew his son was looking for him, so he put the book up to hide his face in order to pretend he was reading.

Draco heard the two and a half year old boy trying to sneak up on him to surprise him. It was something he liked to do—sneak up on his parents and try to scare them. Only once had he truly succeeded—young children often think they're much quieter than they truly are—when Hermione was so caught up in a book that she hadn't noticed him creeping on tiptoes through the room, giggling.

When he heard the boy had reached his chair, trying to stifle his giggles, Draco whipped the book away from his face and said, "Boo!"

The boy squealed in utter delight, his face lighting up like a handful of sparklers. Draco grinned and reached down to pick up his son.

"Ook!"

"You want me to read to you?"

The boy nodded.

"Well, let's see what you've got there."

The boy handed Draco a book.

"Looks like Mummy bought you another new book."

The boy nodded, grinning.

"And it's about dragons! How wonderful!"

The boy settled in against Draco's chest, ready to help his father turn the pages. It was a beautiful book, with very detailed pictures of the dragons. As he read, Draco made all the character voices, and tried to help his son understand the harder words—Hermione always tended to buy him books that were slightly beyond his age.

Finally, Draco turned to the last page and said, "The end." He looked down at his son and saw that he was fast asleep. He kissed the top of his head and set the dragon book on a side table. He picked up his own book, but didn't resume reading. Instead he thought about the beautiful boy sleeping on his chest.

ooo

He had shiny, curly, bright blond hair, the perfect mix of his parents, and his eyes were green—like Jane's. His skin was as pale as Draco's but there were a few freckles that dotted his face.

Draco smiled, remembering when the nurse had handed him the boy right after he was born. He'd had black hair then, and blue eyes, but the hair soon fell out and grew back golden. He'd been wrapped tightly in a non-descript blanket and his skin was very red.

"Your son, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco hesitantly accepted the bundle; he looked so _fragile! _As though he might break with the slightest pressure. When the nurse let go completely, the baby fidgeted for a moment and then settled into position and fell back asleep. When Draco looked at the sleeping baby wrapped in his arms, he fell hopelessly in love. He had no idea anyone could be so completely happy and fulfilled just because of a baby. But he's _my _baby, he thought. He smiled down at the small person and watched him breathe. Then he looked at his wife, sitting up in her bed. She looked exhausted, but she was smiling dreamily at them.

He smiled at her, thinking that surely _this moment _was the most beautiful he'd ever seen her. Only experience told him he'd have the same thought the very next day. Draco completely forgot that there were other people in the room.

"Hey, you," he said to Hermione.

"Hey," she said.

Draco walked over to her and handed the baby to her. His baby. _Their _baby. Hermione took him in her arms and held him as though she'd been holding babies her entire life. She looked so natural, so incredibly happy that Draco felt that his heart would burst, watching her hold their child. Hermione looked radiant despite having just given birth; she was glowing, and he could tell that she had fallen just as hard as he had.

"Hey, little fella," she whispered, moving the blanket so she could get a full view of his face. "I'm your mummy." Draco felt tears prick his eyes. "And that's your daddy. And we are going to love you for the rest of your life."

"Is there a name?" asked the nurse.

Hermione looked at Draco and smiled.

"Steven Anders Malfoy," he said, grinning insanely.

The nurse nodded and scribbled the name on a few documents. "I'll need you both to sign the birth certificate." She presented a grand-looking piece of parchment with their names and Steven's name. "It's a magical document of course," she continued evenly. "Once you sign the birth certificate, it'll be magically sealed. It cannot be altered. Signing it declares for all of posterity that you two are the parents. Should any…disagreements arise, you, Mr. Malfoy, are agreeing to take responsibility for the child regardless of whatever might happen. Should you two separate—Merlin forbid—or the paternity come into question, he is _yours_."

Draco scowled. "I don't think either of those things will be an issue."

"Of course you don't. But I have to say it. Because it's a magically binding contract."

"Fine, whatever." He looked at Hermione, who was giggling softly. Her smile made his annoyance melt away. He smiled back at her and turned to the nurse. "Where do I sign?"

"Here," she said, pointing to the line above his name.

After he'd signed, he took Steven from Hermione so she could sign. The nurse then muttered a spell and the birth certificate flashed gold.

"All done!" she said cheerily. "I'll give you some time with your baby," she said, and left the room.

Hermione reached out a hand and he met it with his own. She squeezed. "I love you," she said breathily, tears wetting her eyes.

Draco sat down on the bed next to her and returned Steven to her. Then he kissed the side of her head and wrapped his arms around her. "I love you too," he whispered into her hair.

"Isn't he amazing?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, unable to say more. He felt…_full_. Complete. "_You_, Granger, are amazing."

She chuckled and looked at him. "I kind of _feel_ amazing right now. And not only because I just had a baby. Just…" she laughed. "Well, because I _did _all of that!"

He laughed and hugged her. "You did good," he said, watching his son take steady breaths. He felt a sudden sense of amazement realizing that he'd been a part of creating this brand new, perfect life. And just before the door burst open admitting a circus of people, most of them with red hair, he said, "And…_I _did something good."

ooo

Draco had had to get used to the idea of a lot of people in his life very quickly. When he decided to court Hermione, he found that in a way, it also meant courting the Weasleys. They were like a second family to her, an additional ten people who cared as much about her as he did. He'd proven himself to Hermione, Harry, Ron and Ginny, but still there remained the rest of the Weasley family.

The first time Hermione took Draco to the Burrow, a few weeks after the War had ended, he requested everyone's attention and handed out apologies, to their immense surprise. He wasn't especially _fond _of apologizing—didn't really have much experience with it—but he figured the best way to get things out of the awkward stage as quickly as possible was to confront the issues head on.

Draco had wanted to apologize, but at the same time, he hadn't. He wanted the Weasleys to knowhe was sorry, _really_ sorry, for every horrible thing he'd ever said to or about them. He just hated being in the spotlight. But Hermione had strongly encouraged it, and so he did it.

He started with a succinct yet heartfelt apology to the entire family, and then a few individual ones as well: to Ron and then to Charlie. The former had had no idea of Draco's involvement in his injury, and he'd been worried that Ron wouldn't forgive him. Ron had been angry, but once Draco had explained the circumstances completely, he mumbled his forgiveness.

Charlie had been kidnapped by Draco during the early stages of the War to be tortured by the Death Eaters for information. Though Draco hadn't been involved in the actual torture, Charlie still assigned his face to the memory of the event in his mind. One night, four months after the War ended, Charlie overheard Draco tell Hermione he loved her. And from then on, he made an effort to get to know Draco.

Fred and George called him Potions for some reason, and almost every time, Hermione giggled hysterically.

It wasn't only that he had to get used to the Weasleys; he also had to come to terms with all those people who'd cared about Hermione for so long suddenly caring about _him. _Truly caring. And it went beyond his relationship with Hermione. The bond he'd forged with Harry would never be broken, and Harry was part of the Weasleys, so Draco had to be too.

After Draco had relayed his apologies on his first visit, he'd very quickly needed to leave. It was… too much, too fast. There had been a lot of emotion involved in his apology, and then the entire lot of them seemed to want to make up for the ten years they'd known Draco but had basically hated him. He could only take so much of being surrounded by noise and people and very quickly he'd exceeded his limits.

Each successive visit lasted a bit longer, until he could finally spend an entire day at the Burrow and keep his wits and his nerves about him the entire time.

In pleasant contrast, he enjoyed spending time with Hermione and her parents because things were much calmer and quieter. As their house had been sold, they had nowhere to go after leaving the island. Draco had promised he would buy them a house anywhere they wished. After a surprisingly short period of discussion and contemplation, the Grangers had asked for a modest flat in the middle of London. After being alone on an island—a beautiful, tropical, yet isolated and empty island—they wanted to be in the middle of people.

They'd had a difficult time getting their deaths legally "reversed," but in the end, Hermione cast a few spells to speed the process along. In Muggle courts, I assume. Mistaken identity was the final ruling, coupled with the Grangers' spur-of-the-moment decision to move to a foreign country, forsaking all of their belongings and worldly goods. It turned out to be _great_ fun—of the kind Draco would be happy never to experience again.

ooo

A strong, cool breeze blew from the sea, ruffling Draco's and Steven's hair. Draco put a hand on his son's arm; it felt cool. He Summoned a blanket from across the porch and covered them both with it.

The porch swing was his favorite place in the entire world. After tucking Hermione in every night for six months, it already held a special significance in his mind.

Then six months after the War ended, after a long, _long _day at the Ministry, where he'd gone to finally get his wand back, Draco returned to the Edge. He was late; Hermione was supposed to meet him and they were going to celebrate his return to the magical world. But he'd had to go to three separate offices—didn't they _know _he was coming?—see five different people—he'd _had _an appointment—before finally being told that the first person he'd seen was the right person after all. He nearly broke his parole right then.

She was supposed to arrive at six and it was nearly seven; he felt awful, but there was nothing he could have done.

The house was dark when he entered but he knew she was there. Her bag and jumper were on his sofa. He called for her, but she didn't answer, so he looked in all the rooms, to no avail. He shook his head, realizing where she must have been, and scolded himself for not going there first thing.

She was asleep on the swing, wrapped in a blanket, her hair fluttering gently in the breeze. He just stared at her because he finally could and his heart had clenched painfully in his chest. He loved her more than _anything_.

He moved toward her, torn between waking her and letting her sleep. The boards of the porch creaked and she stirred, smiling up at him.

"Hey," she said sleepily.

"Hey," he returned, squatting beside the swing to be at eye level with her.

Hermione held out her hand and he took it. "I'm sorry I fell asleep."

"Don't be."

Then she pulled his hand toward her, and when she could pull no more, she grabbed his arm and pulled.

"What are you doing?" he asked, grinning.

"Come here."

She pulled his hand toward her, and he grinned widely at her. Only she could get those smiles out of him—the big, goofy ones where he _knew _he looked stupid but didn't care. Carefully, he climbed onto the swing, settling himself between her and the back of the swing. He was never more thankful than at that moment that he'd decided to put in a large swing.

"Are you tired?" she asked when he was comfortably situated behind her, his chest to her back, his arms wrapped around her.

He chuckled. "Not really."

"Can we just…go out in a bit?"

"Of course, whatever you want."

"Good," she said, yawning. "I really miss sleeping out here. Best sleep in my life."

Draco couldn't believe how quickly she fell asleep, but he wasn't complaining. The feel of her in his arms was too incredible to ruin with thinking. He drifted off too, surprisingly worn from his outing to the Ministry.

When he woke up, the stars were out and Hermione was looking at him, smiling sweetly.

"What?" he said, rubbing his eyes.

She chuckled. "Nothing. I think it's too late for dinner."

"Nonsense," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "We can go anywhere in the world for dinner."

"True." Hermione stretched and then brought her hand to his face. She traced a finger along his face. "You have a sleep line."

"Is that so?"

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you," he said without a moment's delay.

"Good. I'm hungry."

ooo

Draco had collected his mother from Azkaban two days after he'd been released and taken her to the Edge, where she stayed a couple of days while they discussed where she wanted to go. In the end, she'd chosen the house in Oxfordshire, and Draco had set up as many protective wards and spells as he knew.

Five months later, he took Hermione to officially meet Narcissa.

"Why are you so nervous?" he asked as they stood on the doorstep of her house. "You've met my mother before."

"Yes, but…those were _completely_ different circumstances! It was on my terms, if you will. It was at the Ministry, your mother was in custody…now I'm going to _her _house. And…" she trailed off and looked at him.

"And what?"

"Well…I'm with _you_ now."

"Don't worry, Hermione. Please," Draco said. "What happens today won't change anything, you know that." He tried to sound as reassuring as possible, confident and unfazed. Truthfully, he thought he might be more nervous than Hermione. He had never—_ever—_brought a girl to meet his parents. He'd never even told his mum he _liked _any girl, and today he planned to really tell her about Hermione. Whatever her reaction, Draco meant what he had said—nothing between him and Hermione would change. And he suspected his mother knew the truth, but didn't let on.

Whenever Draco talked about his life on his visits to see his mother, he would mention Hermione. Narcissa would inquire as to her general well being, but the electricity in the air always put him slightly on edge. Though he readily admitted he might have been imagining things.

Hermione was, regardless of his own feelings on the subject, Muggleborn. He'd never seen any evidence to suggest that his mother was anything other than the typical, prejudiced pureblood like his father, and he truly had no idea how she would react. Above all, he worried she might think Hermione wasn't good enough for him, which he found laughable.

To tell his mother that he was in love with a Muggleborn, to perhaps insinuate in some way that he wanted to spend his _life _with her…was daunting at the very least.

"Did you knock?" Hermione asked.

"I—oh. No."

She shifted her weight. "Well, please do. The sooner this starts, the sooner it's over."

Draco nodded, took a deep breath, and knocked.

Hermione grabbed his hand and held it tightly as they waited, then dropped it when they heard footsteps approaching.

Narcissa opened the door wide. She wore a set of long, pale blue robes that seemed to have strands of silver running through them. Her long, blonde hair fell halfway down her back, the strands around her face held back with a clip that matched her robes.

She looked at Draco, then at Hermione, then back to her son. "Good afternoon, Draco."

"Mother," he said cordially. "You're looking well."

Narcissa smiled. "As are you." She turned then to Hermione. "Miss Granger. We meet again."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione said, smiling nervously.

Narcissa's gaze traveled down Hermione then back to her face before she returned her attention to Draco. "I am so pleased you've come for tea. Please, come in." She stepped out of the way to allow Draco and Hermione to enter the house, which they did.

"Third door on the right, Draco," Narcissa said. "I will join you momentarily."

Draco and Hermione walked silently down the long, exquisitely furnished hallway. When they reached the right room, Draco opened the door and motioned for Hermione to enter.

The room had pale yellow wallpaper and 19th century furniture, including a piano. Hermione felt as though she'd stepped into a scene from Pride and Prejudice, and had to restrain a giggle. Draco guided her to a chaise lounge.

Hermione had just sat down when Narcissa returned. Draco remained standing until his mother had seated herself across from the chaise in a very ornate armchair. A coffee table between the chair and the chaise held a three-tier tray with the usual accoutrements of high tea.

Draco could feel Hermione's anxiety return full-force and silently willed her to relax.

"How do you take your tea, Miss Granger?" Narcissa asked politely.

"With one lump of sugar, please."

Narcissa looked at Draco. "I'll take two lumps, please."

Draco cracked a small smile for his mother, then stood and went to the sideboard to make tea for the two women. It was part of Narcissa's power play—though what she hoped to accomplish Draco couldn't imagine, except perhaps to intimidate Hermione. It would now feel to her as though Draco weren't in the room, even if just for a moment.

"So, Miss Granger. I've heard…quite a bit about you and the work you did from Draco since my release from prison. Though…not quite everything, I'm sure. He's very careful about what he gives away through his words."

"How has your time been since prison?" Hermione asked. Draco grinned; she hadn't taken the bait. "Did they treat you well while you were there? The guards were awful to Draco."

Narcissa shrugged. "Well enough. Since my release, I've had to get used to…so _many _new things. I'm still working on a few things."

Draco felt her eyes on him and he turned from the sideboard with two cups of tea. He crossed the room and handed first Hermione, then Narcissa, her tea. Then he went to prepare his own.

"It was an incredible shock to be told I had three days to clear out of the home I had lived in for nearly twenty-five years."

Draco quickly finished his tea and returned to sit beside Hermione.

"I can't even imagine," Hermione said, sipping casually from her cup. "How did you feel when you learned about Draco? About what he'd done?"

Draco nearly spat out his tea. He looked at Hermione sharply; she was looking at Narcissa, her eyes slightly challenging.

Narcissa took a very deliberate drink from her cup, then set it on the table. "Right to it, then," she said, her eyes shining as well.

Draco was at a complete loss. The mood in the room suddenly felt hostile. Hermione wanted to know how Narcissa felt about his turn, which he could only assume she thought would give her some indication of how Narcissa might feel about _her_. He couldn't think of a single thing to say to in some way derail the conversation.

Narcissa looked at him. "As I told you once, Miss Granger, I had observed changes in my son."

He looked away.

Narcissa continued. "I knew something was different, but I didn't know what. His own explanation seemed on first glance to be acceptable—that he'd truly bought in to the Dark Lord's propaganda."

Draco stood and went to a window, feeling suddenly quite uncomfortable. He didn't _talk_, as a general rule; he was only just starting to open up completely to Hermione. Sitting and listening to his mother analyze his actions, and speculate on them, was more than he'd anticipated.

"Draco?" his mother called.

"Go on," he said, very much against his will. But he realized this had to happen at some point, this battle between the two most important women in his life, and the sooner the better.

"The relationship between my son and my husband was most telling," Narcissa continued. "If Draco had _truly _bought into the Dark Lord's belief system, Lucius would have been pleased. Truly pleased. Draco would have taken his place in the Dark Lord's ranks, and we would have been one happy family.

"But Draco wanted more than to be a mere soldier. One thing you must know in order to understand my son is that he _never _fully bought what Lucius told him."

Draco felt warmth spread through him and his palms started to sweat. He examined the window intently, paying particular attention to the locking mechanism and the height of the sill from the ground outside. It looked safe enough to escape through, should he feel the need.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Hermione asked slowly. "I have always been under the impression he completely embraced the lifestyle into which he was born."

"To some extent, that is true. Draco believed what we told him of the world, as all children do. He accepted his father's beliefs in the same way all children would—simply because they were Lucius' beliefs. One thing you _must _realize, because I know for a fact you are a very bright witch, is that one cannot simply coast through life, clinging to your parents' beliefs. At some point, every child must either fully embrace the life they were raised to live for himself, or reject it in favor of an alternative.

"Take, for example, my own family. I am quite sure you know of the allegiances of some of them."

"Sirius and Andromeda, you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, most notably. They were raised in a certain environment, but when faced with a choice, even when not explicitly given, they rejected what they'd been taught all their lives. Even Regulus had a crisis of conscience before he died.

"Draco was every bit the perfect, pureblooded son until the time came for him to either embrace or reject the ideals behind pureblood superiority. Unfortunately, this test coincided with the task he was given by the Dark Lord."

"So…" Hermione started. "What, exactly, did he never buy into?"

"Most of it," Narcissa said. "The purity of blood, the superiority of blood—"

"That isn't entirely true, Mother," Draco interrupted quietly, not turning around.

"Oh?" Narcissa said, appearing surprised.

"I suppose you were right; I did what Father would have wanted. I accepted what he told me because that was what I was supposed to do. But I assure you, up until my…test, as you put it, I wholeheartedly embraced his ideals. I welcomed them; it was easy. I took the easy route. Believing what Father said was _easy_."

"Oh," said Narcissa softly.

Draco returned to look out the window. "I'm sorry to ruin your theory about me."

"It's not ruined, Draco. When the time came to act, when the true test was given, it was obvious what was truly inside you."

"Mother," Draco hissed, spinning back around. "I _am _my father's son."

"Stop being so hard on yourself," Narcissa returned. "You're too quick to assume the worst about yourself."

"But you don't _know_, Mother. You don't really know what's inside me, it isn't possible."

"I can see through your actions—"

"My _actions_?" He was nearly shouting now. His mother was trying to make excuses for him, and he refused to let her get away with it. "Should I _list _my actions for you, Mother? Do I need to remind you of everything I've done? The things you don't know…"

"Just stop it, Draco," Narcissa hissed, standing and crossing her arms. "You've made some bad decisions, but you were also _forced_ into this life. You were raised this way, Draco, and that cannot be discounted."

"But I _knew_, Mother. I _knew _it was wrong, every time I picked on someone smaller than me, every time I hexed Potter in the halls."

Hermione's eyes widened.

"Every time I called _her_—" he pointed at Hermione "—a Mudblood. Every time I _killed_ someone."

Narcissa smiled sadly. "Don't you see? I _know_, son. That's exactly what I'm trying to say."

Draco frowned, frustrated.

"You _knew_. Do you think for one second Bella thought it was _wrong _to kill? Do you think she ever thought twice about it? She used to torture squirrels and birds in the backyard; I can assure you she never lost a moment's sleep over what she did to her victims. And Lucius! I can personally account for his lack of conscience. _That_, Draco, is why you are different."

"I still _did_—"

"You _stopped_! Eventually, something changed, and you stopped. You are different, Draco, from all those others—"

"—Mother—"

"And _that _is why I won't listen to you put yourself down! Do you _understand_?"

His heart was pounding. Narcissa had never talked to him like this in his life; she'd never really talked about _anything _of importance with him. So to hear her speak so vehemently about something—about _him_—was staggering.

Draco only scowled at his mother and turned back to the window.

"To answer your question, Miss Granger, no. I was not truly surprised to learn that my son's allegiance was not to the Dark side. I _was_, however, quite surprised by what he _did_ about it."

Draco continued scowling.

"And quite proud," she added quietly.

Draco shut his eyes tight and chuckled. To think he'd been worried about Hermione meeting his mother. "_You _have no room, Mother. I was raised by _two _parents, not just Lucius. How can you come out now as though you're _proud_ that I did what I did, when all my life you've fed me the same tripe he did?"

"I truly hope over time we can become friends, Draco. Now is certainly not the time for that discussion. Only know that I take partial responsibility for how you turned out."

Draco left the window and joined Hermione, who had been practically silent since she asked her question. He took her hand in his.

"Mother, I wanted you to meet Hermione."

Narcissa quirked an eyebrow and the corner of her lip edged upward in what could only have been the beginnings of a smile. "We've met."

He squeezed Hermione's hand. "Yes, I know, but…" he took a deep breath and looked at his mother. "She wasn't the woman I was in love with then." Draco heard Hermione's breath hitch. He looked at her. "Or were you?"

Hermione looked at him and smiled shyly. "I wouldn't know."

"Was it before or after Valentine's Day?"

"Oh, before, certainly."

"Ah. Then you were the woman I was trying desperately to not admit I'd fallen in love with."

"I see," she said, grinning.

"Well," said Narcissa. "This certainly changes things, doesn't it?"

Draco looked at his mother and couldn't help feeling slightly afraid of what she might say.

Then Narcissa turned the full force of her intense gaze on Hermione. She looked her over completely and finally sighed. "Well, honestly, it's about time."

That was probably the last thing Draco expected to hear. "What?" he asked.

"You've been talking about her since you collected me from Azkaban, Draco."

His jaw dropped.

"You haven't _said _anything about being in love with her, of course, but you practically shouted it in every other way possible."

Hermione giggled.

Draco clenched his jaw. "Is that so?"

"Yes, Draco. Considering that you have never shown much interest in a young woman before, to have you mention Miss Granger at every possible turn was quite telling."

"Please, Mrs. Malfoy, call me Hermione."

Narcissa again regarded her. "I do hope you'll forgive me for what I said to you when you saw me in Azkaban. It is only these last five months I have felt truly free to be myself—or at least, to freely think about what I believe." She looked at Draco. "I know it's far too little, too late, for me to exercise independent thought, but I am trying."

"Oh, it's…okay," Hermione said.

"You _must _realize, son, that your father would not have been pleased one bit."

Draco scoffed. "No kidding."

"Surely you must have realized he would have done everything in his power in order to prevent such a thing from happening."

Draco frowned. "Prevent what, exactly?"

"You marrying anyone other than a pureblood, of course."

His first instinct was to quash any idea his mother had that he'd even once _considered_ marrying Hermione, but quickly the truth barreled him over. He did want to marry Hermione, she just didn't know it yet. And while at tea with his mother was _not _the way he wanted her to find out.

Narcissa continued. "I believe there were precautions put in place at your birth. Lucius called it 'insurance,' if I remember correctly. Unless you marry a pureblood, you'll lose your inheritance."

Draco's jaw dropped and he felt Hermione squeeze his hand. "You're…serious?"

His mother smiled sympathetically. "I'm afraid so."

He scowled and looked at Hermione; she was staring directly ahead of her. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms for as long as it took for her to forget what his mother just said. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her none of that mattered, that he didn't mind working to support her, that he didn't care about any of it. That _she _was all he needed.

He sighed and rubbed his temples with his free hand. This was the most ridiculous conversation he'd ever had, he decided. "Lose everything? What would I lose, Mother? I have all I need."

"You would retain your name. That is all."

"_Money_?" he asked, incredulous. "You think I really _care _about that? Do you think, for one second, I would even consider giving her up for _money_? If you do, then you don't know me one bit."

"Draco, darling. I have no doubt as to your feelings for her, I'm merely warning you of the consequences of entering into such a union."

"We're not even engaged," Hermione snapped.

Narcissa looked at her.

Hermione continued. "This conversation seems premature, don't you think?"

"You can never be too prepared, Miss Granger. I simply want you and my son to have all the facts, in case…" she trailed off and loftily picked up her teacup.

"In case, what?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"Forget I said anything," Narcissa said with a dismissive wave. "I'm sure your intentions are completely honorable."

Draco's eyes widened and he felt Hermione tense. "_What _is _that _supposed to mean?" she demanded through clenched jaw.

Narcissa looked briefly at Draco, then back to Hermione. "Absolutely nothing."

"No, I'm not letting that go, with all due respect, Mrs. Malfoy. If you are trying to insinuate, for some reason, that I am only with your son for his money, then I hope he _does _lose everything, every single knut. _Then _you'll see exactly how I feel about him and know that his…his financial situation is of the least importance to me."

Hermione sniffled and Draco knew she was furious.

"Here, dear," said Narcissa, handing Hermione a delicate handkerchief. "It doesn't mean he can't marry you, only that he'll receive nothing from his father's estate."

Hermione accepted it and crumpled it in her fist.

Draco looked up sharply and narrowed his eyes. He knew one thing very well about his mother: she chose her words with precision. "What exactly do you mean?"

Narcissa smiled warmly at him. "That naturally, there was a loophole in such a contract, as there always is. You have the entire Black fortune at your command, as the only living male heir. And, should you choose to become part of your father's business, you could demand any salary you wished, up to and including every knut."

He shut his eyes tight and let out a slow breath and shook his head. "Why, Mother, in the name of Merlin, did you feel that was necessary?"

"I do apologize, Draco. My sense of humor hasn't always been widely accepted. Slytherin at heart, you know." She looked at Hermione, now a kind expression on her face. "Forgive me, Hermione. I… have never been good at trusting people. I prefer testing people. Do you think you can forgive me?"

"I would like to hear you say that you believe me—"

Narcissa hushed her before she could finish. "Yes, yes, of course. I know you truly care about my son and that his considerable wealth is of no consequence to you."

"I love him," Hermione said boldly.

Narcissa sighed and looked at Draco. "And bugger it all, I owe your aunt twenty galleons. Meda was _completely _right, she's absolutely perfect for you," she said.

Draco's heart swelled and he put his arm around Hermione, pulling her close to him. She hesitantly wrapped her arms around him and he sunk his hand into her curls. "She's right, you know," he whispered.

Hermione pulled back, smiling magnificently at him.

Narcissa smiled regally. "Well, that's all settled. Would you care to stay for dinner?"

They agreed and ended up having a lovely evening. Narcissa was quite taken with Hermione, apparently had been ever since she and Andromeda had got together and swapped stories, and made every effort to get to know her, even ignoring Draco completely for nearly half an hour as the two women talked about Italy. Then Narcissa informed Draco as he and Hermione were leaving that if he was stupid enough to mess it up, she would disown him.

Draco had turned red. He and Hermione had only been an 'us' for a few months at the time, and even though he was nearly certain he never wanted not to be an 'us' with her, he wasn't quite sure he wanted his mother to know about it. Or maybe he did—maybe he wanted _everyone _to know it.

ooo

"Draco?" came a voice from inside the house.

Not wanting to shout and alert her to his whereabouts, and likely wake Steven, Draco could only wait for her to find him.

A moment later the porch door opened and he turned to see Hermione poking her head through. "There you are," she said, stepping onto the porch. She stood a few feet away and smiled at the two people on the swing.

"What's up?" he asked quietly.

Hermione came closer and he held out his hand for her to take. "Everyone will be here soon. Are you ready?"

"Yeah…ready as I can be."

She squeezed his hand and awkwardly lowered herself so she was eye level with him. "Okay. Everything's ready—the food, the house… I was just going to grab a book and come out here when I realized it has been entirely too long since I saw you."

Draco smiled. "It's been…what, a couple of hours?"

Hermione grinned. "Yes. _Much _too long, considering you're here, and I'm here." She kissed him then, careful not to disturb their son.

And Merlin, it was as though they'd never kissed before. It still sent shivers of pleasure coursing through him, tickling his stomach and his nerves, even though they'd been together five years. Well, nearly five years; ten days shy. He'd never, ever forget the date as long as he lived and it wasn't even their wedding anniversary. Without thinking, he reached up to take her face in his hand, longing to touch the soft skin of her cheek, feel her silken curls between his fingers.

Only he'd forgotten about the boy. Steven grunted and flailed his arms, startling Hermione so much that she lost her balance and fell onto her bum.

Draco's eyes widened in alarm even though she'd only fallen a few inches. She was _pregnant_, after all, though only just six months. But Hermione just laughed so Draco relaxed. She tried to stand up while laughing, and had a bit of a hard time, but she refused Draco's offers of help.

"Let him sleep," she said as she rested from her first attempt.

"But love, you can't get up," he said, trying to appear completely concerned and not let out the chuckle that was building. "He'll go back to sleep, you know how he is."

Hermione glared at him playfully. "I _can _get up, thank you, and I will. It's not as though I'm due tomorrow. I still have three months to go and I'm not totally incapable."

She tried again. He didn't want to, but he laughed at her plight, at the sight of her, slightly rounded belly exposed, trying to get up. After some effort, she stopped, laughing again, and had to wait until she'd calmed down to try once more. Eventually though, ever the stubborn Gryffindor, she stood.

"I'm exhausted!" she cried.

"I'm sorry, love," he said.

"I'll come collect you in a bit. You'll need to help me get the door."

"Hermione, it's not as though we're expecting the whole of England. It's just a few of our friends."

She started fidgeting with her shirt. "I know, but…this is important. I want everything to go well."

"It will, don't worry. You'll be brilliant, as usual, and I'll be there to make you look even better by messing up everything I possibly can."

She chuckled, and reached for his hand again. "Are you okay, though?"

"_Yes_, Hermione. It's been five years—it's just a day, like any other day. It's no harder than it was yesterday, no harder than it will be tomorrow. Stop worrying about me."

She nodded and he felt his heart swell. She trusted him, enough to believe him when he told her not to worry about him. It never ceased to make him remember just how much he didn't deserve her.

"Enjoy story time," she said, winking at him and disappearing into the house.

Merlin, he loved her and she was _his_. She would always be.

Draco was amazed that Steven had completely slept through the noise he and Hermione had made. He ran a hand through the boy's hair and sighed. _That _day, the day he realized he wanted her forever, _really _forever, was etched into his brain.

They were walking through a park in Muggle London when it had started to rain. It was only a few months after the War had ended. Three months, but it still felt like his entire life, like the biggest thing in his life. Really, it was. He had cursed, upset that their afternoon would be cut short. After all, he'd planned to take her by the river to throw stones into the water. Big planner, very romantic, he knew.

Hermione had turned to him, grinning, and grabbed his hand, pulling him off the pavement and onto the grass. He had protested, trying everything he could think of to get her to stop dragging him through the now-pouring rain. He was getting drenched, and he really didn't like it. Hermione was soaking wet as well, but smiling ridiculously.

"Granger, stop this!" he said, finally yanking himself free from her grasp. "This – this is insane." She had only continued smiling at him. Then she started twirling, arms outstretched, head tilted up to the sky. He could have watched her all day. Finally, she must have become too dizzy to continue, for she stopped spinning and stumbled a little bit when she tried to walk toward him. He caught her up in his arms and kissed her fiercely in the pouring rain. Then he wrapped her in his arms and slowly twirled with her, the two of them completely lost in where they were at that moment.

They had ended up both getting colds, and crashed at Harry and Ginny's sharing chicken soup – her home remedy of course— watching bad TV movies while their friends waited on them, grumbling all the way.

But he knew.

ooo

And then he told her—four months later. It took him that long to work up the nerve. After the visit with his mother, things just clicked in his head. Hermione wasn't going anywhere, he knew that, but still the idea that she _could _haunted him.

So he told her he loved her more than anything and thought he was pretty sure he'd want to spend the rest of his life with her. And she had smiled, eyes shining, and said, "Yeah, I know. Me too."

So they went looking—not _shopping; _he did not _shop—_for rings. She had said she didn't need anything fancy, so he bought her an antique emerald ring with an intricate pattern on the band. It hadn't cost much at all, but money was never a thing with Hermione and she'd cried when she put it on.

"So, that's it then," he said.

"What it?"

"We're going to, you know, get married now."

"I suppose so," she'd said, smiling up at him.

"Yeah…" he said, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. "Reckon we are."

"Are you excited?" she asked tentatively, resting her head against his chest.

He chuckled. "Absolutely, love."

"Me too."

"And slightly terrified."

She chuckled. "Me too."

"Good. At least we're in it together."

He wasn't good at romance, but she didn't seem to mind. She said the little things he did for her meant more than all that fluffy stuff that, in the end, only proved that he'd spent money on her. Though she never seemed to mind it when he did go temporarily insane and bring her a flower from a garden he passed on his way to her flat.

ooo

They got married after a relatively short courtship of ten months at the house where Narcissa lived. Hermione hadn't been too keen on the idea at first, but Narcissa insisted and promised to stay out of the planning, so Hermione reluctantly agreed. Narcissa didn't keep her promise, of course, and together with Andromeda and even Tonks, helped Hermione plan a beautiful, intimate ceremony and celebration. Hermione ended up being grateful for the help, and quickly added Andromeda to her list of favorite people

It had thrown Narcissa into of a spin, as she'd never been involved with anything so small. And Malfoys aren't too familiar with small. But with the help of Jane, Andromeda, Molly and Ginny, everything went without a hitch. Though Andromeda had to keep reminding her sister that small could still be exquisite.

"Think diamonds," she would say whenever Narcissa got flustered.

Draco didn't care too much about the mechanics. To him it was perfect, because he was married to Hermione at the end of it.

The ceremony was held in the rose garden by the fountain. The entire flock of redheaded Weasleys was there, plus Harry of course, and all the Weasleys' various significant others. Hermione's parents were there, and a few friends from school, like Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Luna. Draco didn't invite anyone. Joseph Stephens, the Interrogator who'd released Draco, married them, and when Draco kissed Hermione as his wife, he thought he would never be happier.

But when she told him almost two years later that she was pregnant, he realized he'd been wrong. And then he was wrong again nine months later.

ooo

Another cool breeze swept in from the ocean and Steven stirred again, turning his head to face the opposite direction. Draco gently rubbed his back until his breathing became even once more.

He sighed. Yes, he was happy. And there was a time, a very _long_ time, when he hadn't thought it was possible. He glanced at Steven's peaceful, innocent face. He liked his life—he _loved_ his family. Hermione was the best thing that had ever happened to him and every single day since she'd decided he was worth the risk, he'd made an effort not to take her for granted.

Then they'd had Steven. Hermione came home from the hospital a few days after Steven was born, and both her parents came as well, to stay with them and help out as they could. Draco was beyond grateful for the help, as he had no clue whatsoever what he was doing.

Draco had been overwhelmingly ecstatic at first, but as the days passed, a growing sense of panic settled inside him. He saw to Hermione's needs, learned to change nappies and properly swaddle his son. He was running nearly all day, every day, trying to be as helpful as possible without also getting in the way.

On the morning of the third day, Draco woke before Hermione. They'd been up four times the night before and he wanted her to get as much rest as possible while she could. Steven would be hungry in a matter of minutes, he knew. As quietly as he could, Draco crept out of their room. He poked his head into the room that would one day be Steven's and found his namesake holding him, bouncing ever so slightly and speaking softly to the sleeping baby.

The panic that had been building burst into life. He started sweating and shaking and he felt clammy. He must have made a noise because Steve looked up at him.

"Morning, Draco," he said quietly, smiling. When Draco didn't reply, he looked concerned. "Are you okay? You look ill."

"I—" he started, but it sounded distressed. He shook his head and continued down the hallway. When he reached the stairs, he hurried down them and then nearly ran to get outside. Jane called to him as he dashed through the kitchen but he didn't even slow down.

He ran straight to the edge of the cliff and fell to his knees, fighting the urge to be sick. His breath was ragged and he was no longer warm but shivering. He barely had the presence of mind to Transfigure his robe into a warm cloak.

He was a father. He was a _dad_.

He had a _CHILD_ for whom he was responsible and not just to clothe and feed. He was supposed to somehow influence his son, mold him to become a man. And Draco wanted him to be a _good _person, like Hermione. How could he _possibly_ accomplish it?

Draco had never had a good relationship with Lucius and he had no idea how on earth to raise his son. He didn't want to be anything like Lucius, but inevitably, he saw things in himself that were remnants of his father. There were _some _things Draco didn't mind inheriting from his father: good financial sense, intelligence, a few of the finer Slytherin traits.

But most of his father's traits he _never _wanted to call his own. Lucius was too hard with him growing up, too cold. Draco had never felt the love from him—his mother either, really—that a parent should have for his child. After seeing Steven, after _holding_ him, Draco couldn't imagine how his father had so easily let him go. He could never.

Lucius had also instilled hatred and anger in Draco from a very young age, teaching him right from the start that certain people were better than others. Only it was more than that—it was that certain people were _intrinsically_ better than others, through no actual merit. It was the whole blood thing—pure versus dirty. Blood you're simply born with, blood that's really no different except in the way people perceived it. As he'd told Hermione before, he'd seen all kinds of blood, and it was all the same.

Lucius had expected perfection from Draco, and never gave any positive feedback when he did something right. He wanted Draco to be like him, to hate and kill and be superior, but when Draco tried, he resented him.

In the end, Draco realized Lucius had never really loved him—he _couldn't_ have; there was no way he would never have treated his own son the way he did. Draco had been something of a novelty, something that was expected of Lucius, as it was expected of all good, pureblood families to produce offspring.

Draco shook his head. Vaguely he realized the Grangers might be concerned about him, but at that moment he couldn't think about that. Steven was fine, he was in good hands. Hermione… well, he wouldn't be gone long. Draco Apparated onto the ledge where he and Harry had spent hundreds of hours training. He sat down and leaned against the cliff wall, wrapping the cloak tightly around him.

He didn't want to be like Lucius, but he didn't know how not to be. And he couldn't go back home until he knew, until he had a plan. Plans were good, and logical, and well-thought.

Draco stayed on the ledge until he felt the sun beating directly on his head and knew he'd better get back to help Hermione.

She, Steve, and Jane were sitting at the table, eating a light lunch and talking quietly. They looked up when he entered.

Steve and Jane resumed their conversation and he sat at the table, feeling awkward. Hermione reached for his hand and squeezed it, giving him a questioning look. He motioned toward the stairs and she nodded.

When they were shut in their room, he told her what had happened, that he had seen Steve with their child and had a kind of panic attack. She listened, worried.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "I—not yet. I don't know. I'll be fine, don't worry, but…"

"Don't worry?" she said. "Draco, what am I supposed to do?"

"No, please, I—I will be okay. I just…needed to think."

"Are you finished thinking?"

He bit his lip and grinned at the thought he'd picked up one of her traits. Then his face fell. "No, I don't think so…"

Hermione tapped her foot and looked frantically around the room. "Well, I need a few things from the shop, if you wouldn't mind getting them for me."

Draco frowned. "What kind of store? Diagon Alley? Or the Muggle shops?"

"Both. I was going to ask you to go after lunch… do you mind?"

He shook his head. "Of course not. I'll go after lunch."

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Come back by tonight, okay?"

He blinked and frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

She smiled. "Just—promise me, okay?"

"Okay, I promise."

Hermione hugged him tight. "I love you. Remember that."

Draco pulled her tighter. "I know."

They returned to the kitchen and after lunch, during which he'd tried his very best to appear like his usual self, Hermione asked him to go to Diagon Alley to pick up a few things. He happily agreed and, list in hand, Disapparated.

Quickly Draco went through the list and purchased everything Hermione needed—a few ingredients from the Apothecary, a new book from Flourish and Blotts, and finally a few Muggle baby supplies. He carried the bags through London and tried his best to come up with a solution to his worry, a good solid plan, but his thoughts were scattered.

After walking for over an hour, he stopped in a park and sat on a bench. He stared ahead of him, eyes unseeing, until something caught his eye. A family had brought their dog and were running around playing with it. The father, mother, and two children looked to be having a lot of fun, but then the boy fell and hurt his leg very badly. The boy started crying. Both of his parents went to him, but the boy's father picked him up and carried him out of the park. As Draco watched, they reached a car and the father set him quickly but gently in the backseat.

The mother and daughter arrived with the dog, the mother crying because she was so worried. The father gave her a quick hug, then they all got into the car and drove away, presumably to a hospital.

And that was it, really. The answer, in all its simplicity. Maybe he didn't have to have all the answers; he just had to be there when his child needed him. He had to be the one to carry Steven when he couldn't walk, to wipe away the dirt and tears. He would have to create in his mind a new definition of what a father was.

He'd gone home straightaway, straight to Hermione—she was, at that moment, sitting with her parents, Jane holding Steven—and kissed her over and over and told her how much he loved her and would always be there for her and Steven.

She'd smiled and nodded, then laughed because despite how well the Grangers knew Draco, they were still staring at him in utter shock. Very rarely did Draco express intense feelings or emotions in front of his closest friends, and he'd just done exactly that, with no thought to the consequences.

Instead of turning red, as he normally would have, he simply went to Jane and took his son from her, then sat beside Hermione, smiling to himself.

ooo

But there was something.

There was a small part of him that whispered in his brain sometimes when he was doing something he really enjoyed—playing with Steven, sitting on the porch swing, holding his wife, or walking through London with her and their son, just laughing and talking like normal people. That whisper would tell him that he wasn't finished, that he still had a debt to pay. He wasn't allowed to be this happy. It upset the delicate balance in the world of good and bad. Because he was a bad person and he always would be, no matter what. And bad people didn't deserve to be happy.

Hermione assured him endlessly that he _wasn't _a bad person, but there were times Draco simply couldn't believe her. He still wrestled with demons over what he'd done in what now seemed like a former life. He still had nightmares where he pictured the faces of those he hurt and killed, every single one. He woke up in cold sweats, sometimes yelling, and Hermione had to calm him down, remind him where he was and that all the bad things were over.

He just wished he truly felt that way, and most of the time he did. There were just times when it really felt too good to be true. Part of him kept waiting for something bad to happen to make it all end. The more time that passed, the more he almost expected it. Whenever he told Hermione how he felt—and it was one subject he didn't bring up often, didn't like to think about—she listened and he really felt like she understood. She'd gone through the deaths of her parents and subsequent difficult time that included trying to kill him.

When things were really good, they could laugh about it.

She didn't try to tell him he was talking rubbish, she never brushed him off. But she did insist that he shouldn't feel that way, even though she understood why he did. She'd remind him of all the good things he'd done, all the people he'd helped since turning from the Dark. It cheered him some, but he could never fully quash the voice that crept into his head at times.

There was something else that plagued his mind whenever he thought about Steven or Hermione's rapidly expanding belly. He'd told Hermione about it for the first time the night before. She was reading in bed when he crawled in next to her, kissing her softly on the cheek. She smiled, still looking at the pages of her book.

Draco held out his hand and she took it automatically, still reading. Draco looked down at the arm attached to the hand she was holding. He frowned and then sighed deeply.

Hermione closed her book and put it away; she knew what a sigh like that meant. She looked at him questioningly. "What is it, Draco?"

He squeezed her hand. "Look."

"At what?"

"Our hands."

Hermione looked.

"What do you see?"

"I see our hands entwined."

"What else?" he pressed. There was no way she would _not _see it.

"The Dark Mark."

"Right," he said. "The Mark. It will always be there."

"I know," Hermione said quietly. "But I've known that for years, love. What's on your mind?"

He sighed. "I've just been thinking. Steven is getting older; I can actually have a conversation with him." He chuckled. "Granted, it's usually about cereal or juice, but meaning is conveyed."

Hermione nodded.

"Well, someday, I'm going to have to tell Steven what this thing means. And that scares me to my bones. Right now, he just thinks his dad has a cool tattoo. But it won't be like that forever, it _can't_."

Hermione pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed it, then she kissed his wrist, and finally up his arm to where the Mark stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin. He stiffened.

"Hermione, don't," he said, and pulled his arm away.

She sighed. "Why? It's a part of you. If you want to ignore it, it will just sneak up from behind and bite you. Ironic, since the Mark is a snake, but that's neither here nor there," she said, trying to get a smile from him.

It didn't work; he didn't feel at all like smiling. "Steven is going to grow up and learn his father was a murderer. A _murderer_, Hermione. Can you even fathom how that is going to affect him?" Draco sat up and drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. "He's going to go to school, and kids are going to hear his name, and they'll stare, and point, and whisper. 'He's a _Malfoy_,' they'll say. 'Bad lot, all of them.'"

"No, Draco. That's not true. Everyone _knows _what you did in the War."

"Yes, well, but not everyone believes it. I know it; I see it in people's eyes. Just the way I remember people looking at my father all my life until he was finally confirmed as a Death Eater. They might accept what the papers have told them about me, but they don't believe I'm truly changed, and why _should _they? _I _don't even believe it." He stood up and began pacing. "My father claimed to be good for _years_, but no one really trusted him. They took his money, sure, but even _I _heard the whispers as we walked through the street. I see that same look directed at me now and there's not a thing I can do about it."

"Time – "

"No!" he said earnestly. "I'm sorry, but you're wrong. Time will _not _make things better, it will _not _make this go away. I could _do _all kinds of good things for others, but my name will always be a rumor away from being thrown back into the gutter. What kind of life can I give my children when their father is so mistrusted? What am I supposed to do, Hermione?" he asked, stopping suddenly and looking at her. She thought he looked completely lost, and she held out her arms to him. He went to her, and crawled back into bed, and curled up against her.

"Just be the man you know you are, the man you want to be. Lucius _was _an evil man, and so people continued to look at him that way even though he insisted otherwise. You don't say a word, and Draco, I swear it, people look at you that way less and less every time we're out."

He looked up at her.

"I mean it. If you think I don't notice the way they look at us, you have sorely underestimated me. And the more we are seen, the less people look."

"You—you're just saying that."

She smiled and shook her head. "Would I ever _just say _something to you? Look at me." He sat up and looked into her eyes. "Would I?"

"No."

"Right. I would never lie to you just to make you feel better. It's been five years, and you've been completely within the law. You married me, a Muggleborn; we have one child, and another on the way. Lucius, even when he was trying to convince the world he was never really on the Dark side, didn't really try very hard. Remember! He used money to sway people's opinions. He was still arrogant and rude and prejudiced.

"Draco, _you _are _none _of those things. Anyone who looks with even a slight desire to know the truth will see that you, unlike _him_, are _truly _sorry for what you did. It's in the way you carry yourself, as though grateful for every breath you take.

She took his hand and he felt a thousand tiny bubbles explode inside.

"Please, my love. Believe me. You are not your father, you have _never_ been like him. People _will _see that. They have a lot of hurts to get over first, but they _will_. And when the time comes to talk to our children, we will. Together. They will _know _you by then, Draco. It's going to be hard, you're right, but we can get through it. We got through Voldemort, remember?"

He looked into her eyes and for only the thousandth time saw nothing by love and admiration. "Hermione, I love you."

She smiled. "I love _you_, Mr. Malfoy."

He smiled back, feeling relieved and whole again. His mind then became singularly focused. "Mrs. Malfoy," he said in a low, rumbling voice.

She giggled and he kissed her. For a few hours.

ooo

"Draco, wake up."

He opened his eyes and slowly they focused on Hermione. He grinned at her.

She smiled back and rubbed Steven's back "Time for you two to get up from your nap. It's nearly three and you know Ginny. Always early."

"I can't believe I fell asleep," Draco said, yawning.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "You can't?"

"Er, well…I guess I can."

"Uh-huh. You're all snuggled under a blanket, there's a cool breeze, Steven is sleeping on top of you, making it so you can't really do anything…"

"Yeah, yeah."

"I'll take Steven upstairs and put him in his bed. Would you just get the door if someone knocks?"

"Oh, Hermione no, I'll take him up. You don't need to go up and down those stairs more often than is strictly necessary. Don't over-exert yourself."

She laughed. "Okay, sure. _I _have been working all day, whereas _you _have been out here napping."

Draco's eyes widened. "I have not! I helped you all morning, right up to right around two this afternoon. You were playing with Steven as I recall, and I came out here to read. I can't help it that he joined me and then fell asleep."

"I was kidding, love," Hermione said with a chuckle. "You've been wonderful. I'll take him up."

"Hermione, let me. You know you're not supposed to be lifting heavy objects, and a two-year-old certainly qualifies."

She sighed. "Well…okay."

Draco looked at the top of Steven's curly head. "Hey, buddy," he said softly. "I'm gonna take you to your room now." Very carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping child too much, Draco maneuvered into a standing position. He went to Hermione and took her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "Be right back."

By the time Draco rejoined Hermione, everyone had arrived: Harry and Ginny with their three children, plus Ron and Luna and their daughter. She was the newest of the bunch, only three months old. Hermione was already holding her, cooing and making baby noises.

Everyone looked up when he entered and he nodded. Harry grinned at him and Ginny hugged him.

Every year they gathered on the anniversary of the end of the War to pay tribute to those who had fought, died, and perhaps most importantly, lived. Someone always cooked—this year Hermione and Draco were hosting—and after dinner they would have a kind of ceremony. It was nothing formal, or specific, just a time to think and to remember.

Harry usually said a few words, and the women ended up in tears. Draco listened and had to fight his own set of tears every year. There were things about the last few days before Voldemort died that were still raw, namely his father's death. His face haunted Draco's sleep more often than anyone else.

This year, however, something changed in him while Harry was talking. And he didn't know what it was, or why it happened, but it did. He was going along the usual route, slowly arriving in his mind at the day of his father's death, when he hit a mental roadblock. Something he told his father, about Hermione. That he'd promised her he wouldn't kill again. He'd made that promise and she had never asked it of him, she hadn't even _been _there when he'd made it.

He realized he'd made the promise to her because he thought he could keep it _for her_.Because hedidn't _want_ to kill anymore. He hadn't trusted himself to follow through with the promise when placed only on himself, but by linking the promise to Hermione, he believed he could do it.

In the end, he'd actually _kept_ the promise for himself. As much as he loved Hermione, even that wouldn't have been strong enough to keep him from something if he wanted it strongly enough. He had used the idea of a promise to her to get him to do what he truly wanted to do anyway, but it was his own strength, his own resolve by which he followed through.

He_ didn't _kill Lucius. He didn't _kill _him—he'd chosen not to. Lucius was dead; he'd signed his own death warrant when he accepted the Horcrux. He would have died regardless. It wasn't _his _fault.

_It wasn't his fault._

Harry was in the middle of an anecdote about something that had gone wrong on one of their missions when Draco interrupted.

"Hey!" he said. Harry stopped mid-word, and everyone turned to him. Hermione's eyes were wide.

"What is it, Draco?" Harry asked, a bit concerned.

Then Draco reddened. He'd blurted out without really thinking about what he wanted to say, but he felt compelled to say _something_.

"I—I just wanted to…to say that I understand something," he said haltingly. Everyone kept watching him, waiting for him to continue. "Why we do this, why we remember. Why we don't just remove the painful memories."

Luna looked at him as though she wasn't surprised in the least that he was talking, which he decided he'd think about later. "What makes you say that?" she asked.

He was still quite warm in the face and really wanted to crawl into a hole, but everyone was still staring at him and he knew he wouldn't be allowed. "I—I mean that we can learn from them, even after we've already learned from them. My…father. He died, and all I've been able to think about is me, how that affected _me_. Hermione lost her parents for two years, but she lived through it, and I mean really _lived_. Didn't crawl into a hole and stay there, she kept fighting.

"For years, I – I've placed this huge amount of blame on myself, and…it's not my fault. I thought I'd never be able to get past it."

Draco took a deep breath. "But…I think I just did."

Hermione was beaming at him, tears in her eyes. She quickly handed the baby back to Luna and crossed the room to him, and then hugged him as tightly as her belly would allow. Draco didn't think she'd _ever _held him so tightly.

And he didn't even care that the room was full of people. He just hugged her back and let all the relief, all of her strength flood through him, cleansing him. He felt light, as the weight that had pressed on him for five years, plus the one that had pressed on him for much longer than that, disappeared.

He didn't know how long they stood there, but finally Hermione whispered, "I love you, Malfoy."

Draco gave her a gentle squeeze and said, "You too, Granger."

She pulled away smiling, her eyes bright but dry. She took his hand in hers and moved to stand beside him.

"Uh, sorry about that Harry," said Draco with a chuckle. "Please, carry on."

Everyone was silent.

"No, I think I'm done, actually. Besides, isn't it about time for dessert?"

ooo

There must have been something about that day, maybe the really delicious food, the new baby on the way, or maybe even Draco's confession, but everyone stayed late into the night. Kids were asleep on any horizontal surface they could find, and the six friends migrated onto the porch to avoid waking them. Finally everyone left in the small hours of the morning.

Draco and Hermione bade them goodbye, and returned to the porch swing. They sat on the swing and Hermione snuggled in Draco's arms.

"That was nice," she said after a few minutes of silence.

"Yeah," he agreed, kissing the top of her head.

"I don't think we need to do it anymore, really."

"Why not?" he asked, surprised.

"Well…it seems as though we're all okay now. We've all been healing slowly; you have taken the longest, since you had so much more to mend. But now…I don't know, maybe it's too soon to tell."

Draco considered her comment. He truly felt better than he ever had before, as though he'd truly, _finally _put all the bad behind him. He still didn't feel _good_, but he no longer thought of himself as a bad person—he'd been punishing himself for long enough. It was time to really let it all go.

"I'm…okay," he said.

Hermione sat up and they looked at each other. "All the way, okay?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

She smiled. "Oh, Draco. You've had this…cloud over your head as long as I've known you. Even _I _couldn't make it go away."

"No, you couldn't. Because…because it was me, it was _my _past, _my _life. _My_ wrongs. _I _had to come to terms with all of it. I couldn't do it for you no matter how much I might have wanted to."

She snuggled back under his arm. "I'm glad, Draco."

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she asked, sounding suddenly sleepy.

"Tell me you love me."

"I love you, Draco."

"And you always will. No matter what."

She looked at up him with a slight frown. "No matter what— what do you mean?"

"Please, just say it."

"I always will, no matter what."

"Me too."

"I know," she said.

"I know, I just…needed to tell you again."

"Okay."

"I'm…worried."

"About what, love?"

"That it's just an illusion, this peace I feel right now. How do I know it will last? What if tomorrow, I wake up, and it's gone? And all the pressure is back, and that cloud?"

"Draco, look at me."

He did.

"You know that I love you, and I always will. You might be right; this new feeling might not always be with you. There will probably be times when you have to fight your demons again, but remember! _I _am here, fighting with you, every day. And when they bully their way into your head again, just remember that together, we can beat them. Even if all I can do is cheer you on, hold you, and love you."

"But…I'm _happy_, Hermione. Happier than I ever thought possible."

"Draco, _No one _deserves to be happy, okay? Not even me. You are the most amazing thing to ever happen in my life, and every day I think how lucky I am when I open my eyes and you're right beside me. I don't deserve it; we're just lucky. The moment you start to think you deserve this is the moment you've lost it. Never take it for granted. Just love me, I'll just love you, and we'll be okay."

Draco took a deep breath. "You are amazing, you know that?"

"You've mentioned it," she said with a smile.

"Let's sleep out here tonight, what do you say?"

"You _know _that's always fine with me."

They both lay down and Draco wrapped her in his arms, breathing her in. "I want to be this forever," he whispered into her hair.

"We will," she said. Then she turned around in his arms so they were facing each other. "It's you and me, Malfoy."

He grinned and kissed her nose and said, "I like our odds."

Then he kissed her for a very long time until Hermione reminded him that they had to be really, _really _careful, as they were on the swing and she was pregnant.

He smirked, remembering the last time they'd been on the swing—it _had _gotten quite…feisty. So he suggested they go inside, but Hermione just grinned mischievously and said no, she liked a challenge.

He would battle demons for the rest of his life, and there would be times when they would almost win. But he knew Hermione would be there beside him, and with her help he would beat them, because together they really were something. Something absolutely amazing.

ooo

**The End**

ooo

Yes, truly this is the end. But there are deleted scenes to look forward to!

And now…reviewers hall of fame! I have been keeping track of my reviews, and I have quite a few people to thank! First of all, thank you to EVERYONE who has reviewed so far. Each and every time I received an email alert, I smiled. In all the reviews I've received to far, I only had one or two people say they didn't like it. I think that's amazing!

Drum roll please…

The _**One Cherry Award**_, for 10-14 reviews goes to: AerinAlanna, aerochick06, AlittleLonely, Apathetic Empath 2 (Z, I heart you, my dear), blue artemis, BlueIrishEyes, decembergirl, delyn, Diamonde, FastTimes90, ginnyginny, Girl With A Pen, iamchlorine, jamy21, Jedi Knight Bus, Jester08, librastar, Life Is Truly Great, Markitdownb4itsstruck, mrivera, Natural-181, perfect.manhattan, pobrediabla, queenofthelameos, rosalily, UniTexasWriter11, and untamedspiral.

_**Two Cherry Award**_, for 15-19 reviews goes to: brick-red-wall, ChewedGum, Dark Hope Assassin, jitterbug393, moony's number 1, RahNee, snuffles, and spix.

_**Three Cherry Award**_, for 20-24 reviews goes to: Ehlonna, eilonwy (There aren't enough WORDS to tell you how much you made this better!), grace, Laendra, Lucifer-the-great-undead, Marionette, oneamsoundstage, Proverbs and Terry Moon.

_**Four Cherry Award, **_for 25-29 reviews goes to: adriennelouise, Hotkat144, kazfeist, marauder'sbabe, NotreDamegirlie, slytherinqueen23, Steelo and Your Mom Is My Heart.

And finally, the _**Island Award**_, for more than 30 reviews goes to Dizzied, SiriuslyPadfoot'sGal (JKRsunkmyship – didn't know which name you preferred!) and superelle.

I have a surprise for you… Go to my profile page and click the link you find there. It will take you to my LiveJournal, to a post where I posted a thank you gift. I will leave the link up for two weeks.

THANK YOU!


	37. The Song of This Town

**We Learned the Sea  
Epilogue: The Song of This Town**

_And you are still young, but you'll understand. That the stars of the sea are the same for the land.  
"We Learned the Sea" by Dar Williams_

**ooo**

Hermione sighed as yet another strong gust of wind blew through the open windows, causing the pages of her book to turn before she was ready. She suspected a storm was on its way and reluctantly got up from her comfortable armchair to shut the seaward windows.

When she reached the far wall, she paused and looked toward the water. Sure enough, dark clouds were gathering and she could hear the waves crashing against the cliff. Hermione hoped the impending weather wouldn't reach the rest of her family, out for a relaxing afternoon of Quidditch near Ottery St. Catchpole.

Another gust blew and Hermione inhaled the salty air before finally closing and latching the window. She decided to go ahead and shut all the windows in the room that had become her sanctuary, a combination sitting room, library and sunroom.

Hermione returned to her chair and pulled her legs underneath her, settling in for an afternoon with her current book.

The house at Hake's Edge no longer look the same as it had when she had lived there with Harry and Draco during the war. It still had the sitting room, dining room and kitchen on the first floor, and the original two bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs, but it now boasted a third bedroom and playroom on the upper story and beneath the addition was the room in which Hermione sat, reading.

She and Draco had never really discussed how many children they wanted, only that they both wanted a family. After Steven was born, they agreed they wanted another, both deciding they did not want their son to be an only child. Steven had been three when Layla was born.

Hermione had been amazed and deeply touched at the way Draco had truly loved and cherished their son, but it was nothing to his relationship with their daughter. The two had formed an instant bond that had only grown in the years since.

Hermione occasionally felt twinges of jealousy when she saw the two of them together, huddled over a book or talking quietly by the fire, sometimes wishing she was included in their special world. She had a very good relationship with Layla and Steven as well, but it wasn't the same.

She really could not have been happier, especially considering what Draco's relationship with his own father had been like. She did not resent his relationships with their children, only allowed herself a few moments of self-pity whenever the feelings hit her the strongest. There were simply too many years ahead of them to quibble over whom their children liked better.

Whenever Hermione thought back to the years with just the four of them, she was thankful she had never made a big issue over it.

On the evening of Layla's fourth birthday, Hermione and Draco had returned to their home at the Edge, exhausted but also exhilarated. The kids were spending the night at the Potters', where the party had been, with all of their friends, and they had the whole house to themselves. They had started kissing as soon as the door shut behind them and didn't stop for over two hours. When they finally did, relaxed, energized, and completely satisfied, Hermione was wrapped tightly in Draco's arms on the porch swing. It was swaying ever so slightly and she suspected that Draco had Spelled it to move without either of their efforts required.

There were times when the reality of their lives would hit Hermione and she would cling to Draco as though she would be lost forever if she let go. Everything they had been through to get to where they were, all the things that could have so easily gone wrong…. She tried not to think about those things, but sometimes they just hit her.

That night had been completely magical, both of them focused and intent on the other, in tune with each other, and Hermione felt at ease with the world after the moments of pure bliss faded into serene companionship. As she lay spooned against his strong chest, memories from the night Draco and Harry left to find Lucius and Voldemort flooded her mind. It was too easy to think how easily her entire life might have been different.

"I love you," Draco murmured in her ear, giving her a gentle squeeze.

Hermione scooted as close to him as she could get, wishing that at that moment she could crawl inside him.

"I've been thinking," he continued. "I love Steven, and I love Layla. You are the most amazing woman in the world." He paused and took a breath. "I want us to have another baby. I want to make a baby with you."

Hermione stared at the porch in front of her, at the wooden table and chairs where they often ate as a family. Was it possible she had just been thinking about close they had come to not being together? After a moment, she turned around in his arms to face him, her heart now full of emotion. "A baby?"

Draco smiled. "I love our family, but lately I've been thinking it's not quite … finished. There is more yet to come. I don't know if that makes sense."

Hermione smiled and traced his bare arm from shoulder to fingers and then gently wrapped her hand in his. "It makes perfect sense, Draco. I suppose I know what you mean. But are you sure?" she asked, searching his eyes.

"Absolutely. If you want to, of course. We haven't talked about this at all, I know that, but that also makes me think it's a possibility. After Layla, you didn't say 'no more kids' …. What do you say? I'm fine if you don't want to go through it again, I know what it's like … at least, I've seen you go through it twice already."

The answer had been as obvious as the fact that she loved him. She grinned and lightly kissed his chin. "I say we had better get started."

Ten months later, Emma Jane was born.

During the pregnancy, however, it became clear that the house would likely no longer fully accommodate the growing family. Things were tight as they were, with generally small rooms and very little indoor space for the children to play in. They had had the conversation just so they could say they'd had it, and discussed the pros and cons of moving. There had been only one pro: more space. After they finished making the ridiculous list, Hermione had laughed and Draco had Incinerated it.

The next path in the discussion was the number of bedrooms. The new baby could share a room with her sister. Draco, however, felt strongly that she should have her own room. Perhaps it had something to do with being an only child, but he wanted the baby to grow into a room of her own, where she could let her unique style and creativity flourish.

"Besides," he had said one day during month four. "We could really use extra space. It wouldn't be a big effort or terribly inconvenient to add on to what we already have. I built this one on my own, I built your parents' house on the island, I think I can add a few rooms. I say a fourth bedroom and a playroom on the upper floor, and that room you've been dreaming about, with three walls of windows."

Hermione had sighed. "A fireplace would be ideal. As the kids grow up, Side-Along Apparation just won't be practical."

It really was not a difficult decision at all. The house and its place by the sea were too dear to them, held far too many memories to simply quit when they added a new member to their family. The construction was started the next month and was finished by the time Emma slept in her home for the first time.

The sitting room had its southern wall taken out and reformed with a doorway and the fireplace, which opened both to it and to the reading room on the other side. As Hermione had wanted, the three exterior walls of the reading room were covered in windows, with a door leading to the garden which she and Layla tended. The garden was something they both truly loved and they enjoyed their time together there.

When they designed the addition, Hermione and Draco wanted the lower story to extend beyond the upper story, and for glass to be set at an angle to allow the room to be suffused with light during the day.

Steven was thrilled to be moved to the new bedroom; the baby's room would be near her parents' and Layla was excited about being close to her new sister. Both of them enjoyed spending time in the playroom, in which Draco had put a few large pillows for comfortable reading (and into which Steven often found enjoyment in pushing his sister).

The house still had the same, intimate feeling it had always had, just a little bigger.

A distant peal of thunder drew Hermione from her book and she was surprised to see how dark the room had grown because of the oncoming storm. She pulled out her wand and was about to turn on a light when she heard the fireplace roar to life.

Green flames flickered briefly and three people emerged. Draco appeared to be attempting to speak to Steven, who brushed him away and ran out of the room and up the stairs. Layla looked distinctly nervous and when she noticed Hermione in the room, ran to her. Hermione scooped her and saw that Draco was scowling deeply.

"Draco? What happened? You're back early … was it the weather?"

He looked at her and it seemed he only then noticed she was in the room. On his face was an unfathomable expression and he looked as though he were searching for something to say. Finally he said in a strange, almost hollow voice, "It's started," and walked out of the room, heading for the porch.

Hermione looked at Layla. "Do you know what happened?"

She shook her head.

"All right. Why don't you run upstairs and play in your room? If you hear Emma wake from her nap, come and get me, please. I'm going to speak to your brother."

"Okay, Mummy."

Hermione set Layla down and followed her up the stairs. When she reached Steven's door, she knocked softly. There was no response, so she knocked again. "Steven? It's Mummy. May I come in?"

After a moment she heard a muffled reply and slowly opened the door. Steven was on sitting with his back to the wall on his bed which was situated in the corner of his room, his knees drawn to his chest. His mess of curly blond hair fell around his face.

Hermione approached the bed and sat on the corner opposite Steven. "Are you okay, sweetheart? Did you and Daddy have a row?"

Steven shook his head but said nothing.

"What is it? What's got you so upset?"

He looked at her for a few long moments before he spoke. "Is … is Daddy a—a bad man?"

Hermione's stomach jumped into her throat and her breath hitched. Draco's comment downstairs now made perfect sense: something had happened and Steven had heard about Draco's past. Immediately Hermione wanted to rush to Draco and learn the details and help him deal with what would come next. He would have to tell Steven the truth.

However, it was very important to first learn exactly what Steven had heard and she did not wish to needlessly alarm her son. "What do you think?" she asked, leaning on one arm.

Steven only shrugged and looked away from her.

"What did you hear?" Hermione asked gently. "It's okay to tell me, you won't get into trouble."

Steven hesitated but finally looked at Hermione. "They said … Dad was a bad man, that he … hurt people."

A rush of anger and fierce loyalty welled within her. Anger at whoever had spoken to her son about Draco's past and a strong determination to defend her husband. "Your dad is a good man, Steven. Do you believe me?"

He nodded, slowly.

"He is, he's the best man I know."

A small flicker of hope seemed to light Steven's brilliant green eyes. "Everyone likes him, Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny, even Uncle Ron." The light fell. "But … they weren't there. Just Dad and Miss Luna."

"Who said your dad hurt people, Steven?"

He shrugged again.

"I am not going to get you into trouble, sweetheart. This is between you and me, all right? Was it one of your friends?"

"No, it was Zack's friend, Corlin."

Zack was Ron and Luna's oldest child and Corlin belonged to Blaise Zabini and his wife. Somehow after the war, Zabini had managed to convince the Ministry that he had been coerced into serving Voldemort. Draco, not wishing to condemn him to a life in prison, had not testified against him and he was released. He and Hermione had kept their family away from Zabini's, but Zack had met Corlin in Diagon Alley and the two were fast friends, despite Ron and Luna's protests. They allowed their son to interact with Corlin only when one of them could be there.

"Your dad is a good man," Hermione repeated firmly. "I want you to know that. You know him, Steven, you play with him everyday. He loves you more than anything."

Steven nodded. "I love him too."

Tears pricked Hermione's eyes. Steven knew what it meant to hurt and be hurt, and she hoped desperately that his experiences with his father would get them through this.

"I think you should talk to him," Hermione said.

Steven's eyes widened. "I don't want him to be angry!"

"Oh, no, honey! He won't be angry at you, I promise!" Only at himself, she added mentally. "Shall I go get him?"

"Okay," Steven replied quietly.

Hermione left the room and paused at the door to look back at Steven. His arms were still wrapped tightly around his knees and his head rested on them. She thought he looked lost and scared, but determined as well.

**ooo**

Draco had gone straight to the porch after leaving Hermione and Layla. He didn't really know what he should be feeling, but he felt a mixture of anger and dread. He had wanted to Apparate directly to Zabini's house and punch him squarely in the nose. How dare he tell stories to his children about Draco! What about his own role in the war? Draco was sure he hadn't mentioned how he had eagerly volunteered to join Voldemort, had shown an aptitude for and tendency toward violence and torture.

However, the more time that passed, the longer Draco stood and listened to the rolling thunder and pounding waves, the anger subsided and dread claimed dominance in his heart. Now he would have to talk to Steven and tell him the truth. He had been thinking about this conversation for years, wondering when the right time would be, or if there could ever be a right time. He wasn't ready, he hadn't thought it all out yet. He had no idea how he would start, no idea of the best way to approach the subject. How did you tell your child that you were once a terrible person?

Vaguely Draco was aware that the porch door had swung open and then fallen shut, and then soft footsteps approached him. He could feel her presence the way he felt the warmth of his cloak in the winter or the cool water on his skin in the heat of summer. After all this time, he could still sense when she walked into a room—for she brought the sun—or when she left. The slight change in pressure, the miniscule dip in temperature, were surely only felt by him.

As she neared him, he felt somewhat renewed, though he knew it would take more than her presence to get him through this.

"What happened?" she asked, leaning her elbows on the railing beside him.

Anger bubbled inside him once more and he snorted. "Stupid kids," he muttered. "Freaking Zabini … I want to wring his bloody neck."

"Draco …" she said calmly.

He sighed. "We were sitting around, taking a break from our game and the kids were playing nearby. As we chatted, we heard the sound change from playful to angry. I heard Steven's voice and Luna and I went to see what had happened. Corlin—you know Zabini's no-good brat?—was taunting Steven, telling him … well, things about me. I tried to intervene, but …. You know Steven, he's so sensitive. He defended me to Corlin, but in his heart he had already started doubting. Corlin was so abrasive and so sure, and Steven … well, he just didn't know what to do or say. I quickly rounded up Layla and we left without saying goodbye to Harry and Ginny."

"What did Corlin say?"

"I didn't hear everything, but he told Steven I was a bad man, that I liked to hurt people, hurt _you_," he bit out. He had nearly seen red when he heard that and had thought that at that moment, Corlin was right about at least one thing. "Like I need someone else—a bloody kid—to remind me of my past. But how _dare_ he tell MY son that I would ever hurt his mother!" He knew he was yelling and he didn't care. He couldn't think of anything in the last … ten years that had made him this angry.

"Draco, calm down," Hermione said, putting a hand on his arm.

He took a few long, deep breaths and then let his shoulders slump. "I have been going over this conversation, over what I would say, and how, and when, for nine and a half years, Hermione. And then some bloody, good-for-nothing kid goes and ruins it all."

"I know," Hermione said with a sigh. "But now it's here and it's time to talk to him. This had to happen before Hogwarts; maybe … maybe it's good that this has happened."

"Good? Good that I now have only mere minutes in which to devise a strategy for what will, in all likelihood, break my kid's heart? You know him, Hermione …. He thinks I'm a good father. He loves me. Telling him the truth …."

"Has to be done, love," Hermione said, turning to face him.

"You didn't see the look on his face when I couldn't deny what Corlin had said," Draco returned, meeting her eyes briefly before lowering his head into his hands.

Hermione gently rubbed his back in slow circles for a few moments before speaking. "He loves you, Draco. All you have to do is talk to him, and tell him you love him."

Steven did love him and he held the truth of that fact deep in his heart. Hermione loved him, yes, but his son's love was different. It wasn't based on anything he had done, not really. It wasn't based on the fact that he had changed, that he had worked to defeat the Dark Lord, that he had grown to resemble a decent human being.

Steven loved him simply because he was his father. Draco understood that feeling. He had spent his entire childhood loving his own father, trying with all his might to please him, to make him proud. And Lucius had done nothing to encourage him, nothing to support him, yet Draco had still loved him. The relationship he had with Steven never ceased to amaze him: Steven had loved him from the moment he understood the concept of the feeling, and Draco had felt a tremendous responsibility to honor that love, to treat his son with love and respect, not to turn on him or disappoint him. Even though he had known from the beginning that he would have to do just that.

Draco looked at Hermione. "Will you be there?"

"Of course."

He took her hand and started toward the door, then abruptly stopped, turned around and wrapped her in his arms.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," he whispered in her ear, through her thick, unruly hair. "What if I mess up? What if he hates me?"

Hermione gently pushed him off and forced him to look at her. "Listen to me, Draco Malfoy. First, he will not hate you. He loves you, adores you! He is just confused about what he heard and needs to hear the truth from you."

"But the truth—"

"Is bad, yes. But it's better, far better than lying to him. He loves you, Draco. Be honest, and open, and he will forgive you. Second, you might mess up, but all that matters in the end is that you tell him the truth. If he's angry for a while, at least you'll have told him everything."

Draco shut his eyes tightly. He knew she was right, but part of him was simply terrified at what he had to do.

"You've been preparing for this moment, I suspect, since you first learned I was pregnant. You will do well, Draco," she said insistently.

He nodded heavily and together they went inside and up the stairs. Draco hesitated outside the door and looked at Hermione once more for reassurance. She squeezed his hand and it was enough.

Steven was still sitting in the corner of his bed, exactly as Hermione had left him. As soon as Draco saw him, he took a deep breath, stood tall and walked to the bed.

"Hey there, kid," he started.

Steven looked up through the curls on his forehead. "Hi, Dad," he said shyly. Draco sat on the opposite corner from Steven and Hermione sat beside her son.

"Steven, will you tell me what Corlin said?" Draco asked calmly.

Steven looked from Hermione, who nodded encouragingly, to Draco, obviously hesitant.

"It's all right," said Hermione kindly. "I promise, Daddy won't be mad at you."

"No, of course not," Draco added hastily.

Steven looked down at his knees. "He said you were a bad man and you liked to hurt people."

"Is that all?" Hermione prompted.

Steven shook his head.

"What else, sweetheart?" she urged.

Steven looked at his mother. "He … he said Dad used to … to hurt you. And kill people."

Draco shut his eyes tightly. "Steven, I am going to tell you the truth. Can you listen while I talk? Will you be my big boy and trust me with everything I say?"

He nodded solemnly.

"I … I haven't always been your dad, you know. Before you were born, it was just your mum and me. Before her, I was all alone."

"What about your mum and dad?" Steven asked.

"Er … it's complicated. I had my parents, yes, but we weren't really friends, like you and I are friends."

"Oh."

"When I was by myself, I made some bad choices. Do you remember hearing about the really bad man from before you were born?"

Steven nodded. "Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron talk about him sometimes when they think we're asleep. He was the most evil man in the world."

"Yes, he was. His name was Voldemort." Even after all the years that had passed, all the good in the world since the defeat of the Dark Lord, it was still hard for Draco to say his name. He paused and continued. "My father … my father worked for him."

Steven blinked. "Why?"

"Because your grandfather wasn't a very good man, Steven. He wanted to hurt people, people who weren't like him. He thought he was better than most people. Voldemort let him hurt and kill. Remember what Harry says? Voldemort wanted to rule the whole world and kill everyone who didn't have magic."

Steven's eyes widened. "Kill all the Muggles? Why?"

Draco shook his head, amazed at how different his childhood was from his son's. At the age of nine, Draco had already spouted much of the prejudiced drivel he had heard from his father and had believed it. "I don't have a good answer for you, son. I don't really know why. He … he didn't think non-magical people deserved to live. I don't know why."

"He sounds awful. I've got friends who are Muggles, at my school."

"I know, and that's the way it should be," said Hermione, ruffling Steven's thick hair. "We're very proud of you." Steven attended a school that was mostly attended by Muggles, but also taught a handful of wizarding children whose parents wanted them to experience more than simply education at home. The school had a few witches on the staff whose first love was education of students too young to attend Hogwarts.

"For what?"

Hermione looked at Draco and gave him a soft smile. Their son had no idea that there were people in the world who thought that he shouldn't be friends with Muggles.

Draco took a deep breath, ready to continue now that he had begun. "As I said, my father worked for the bad man, but after a few years, my father got caught. The bad man wanted me to work for him. He threatened to kill my mother if I didn't."

Steven looked at Hermione and Draco couldn't help but wonder what had passed through his mind as he did. Was he thinking, perhaps, how much he loved _his_ mother, and about what he might do in order to protect her?

"I … I chose to do what I had to do to keep my mother safe. Every day, all I could think about was keeping her safe."

"What did you have to do?" Steven asked in a whisper.

Draco looked him in the eye. "I was supposed to … to kill someone."

Steven swallowed hard.

"Please understand, those were evil times. The world you live in is safe—for you, for your mum, for everyone. Ours … wasn't. I am not trying to excuse what happened, Steven," Draco said, looking to Hermione, feeling suddenly lost.

She put her hand over one of Steven's. "Your dad was in an awful position. He didn't want to be the cause of his mother's death, and he didn't want to kill."

"You didn't?" Steven asked, looking back at Draco.

"No, I did not. I thought at first that I would be able to do it anyway, but as the year passed, I realized I couldn't."

"So what happened?"

Draco shook his head. "An unfortunate series of events. The man I was supposed to kill ended up dead, though not by my hand. My … favorite teacher had actually carried out the deed. He took me with him back to the bad man. He was very angry with me for failing. He wanted me to keep working for him, but I had failed. He gave me another choice and I made the wrong one, Steven. I was scared. The bad man told me I had to kill someone else, or he would kill me. I didn't want to die."

Hot tears pricked the edges of Draco's eyes and he was stunned at them. He had only shared these details with Hermione, and even then it had taken years. His feelings about what he had done were the things he kept from her the longest, for fear that letting them out would finally force him to deal with his friends' murder at his own hand. The weeks after he told Hermione were some of the worst he'd had since the end of the war.

"So I … I did it, I killed a man who was my friend and mentor," Draco stuttered, his throat feeling tight and his vision blurring slightly. He shut his eyes to clear his sight and felt a hand on his own. It was small and soft, and he expected it was Hermione's, but when he opened his eyes, Steven was sitting directly in front of him, a sad, thoughtful look on his face.

"Don't be sad, Daddy," Steven said, patting his hand.

Draco smiled at his son and nodded. "Thank you." He looked at Hermione to find her watching him, not doing anything about the tears streaming down her cheeks. He nodded toward her and looked back at Steven. "Ready for me to continue?"

Steven nodded and remained near his father.

Draco took a deep breath, not quite sure he was ready to continue. "After that, I worked for the bad man for … essentially two years. Corlin was right: I did hurt people, and I did kill people." He said it quickly, as though somehow it would help to get it out fast. Steven stared at him without expression for a moment while Draco held his breath, waiting for his reaction.

"Why?" came the small voice.

"I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to die, so I kept following orders."

Almost imperceptibly, Steven moved away from him and it tore Draco's heart to pieces. How could a child be expected to understand the complex feelings Draco had gone through during his time under the Dark Lord's rule? How could he possibly hope to convince his son that he regretted what he had done and was now a different person?

"You … you hurt people," said Steven, looking at his bed.

"Yes, I did." Admitting it to his son was more painful than anything Draco had been through.

"And killed people."

"I don't do those things anymore," Draco said.

Steven looked up and met his father's gaze. "You always tell me not to hurt, not to throw things at people, not to be mean, but to be gentle with animals and people," he said in an accusatory tone.

"I know, Steven, and that's the right thing to do. My father never said those things to me, never told me to be nice."

"You hurt Mum!" Steven yelled, scooting away from Draco. "Corlin told me! It must be true! Everything else has been!"

"No," Draco said so firmly that Steven started and looked frightened. "I did not hurt your mother that way. I never laid a hand on her or pointed my wand at her."

"But he said—"

"The bad man hated people like your mother because she has Muggle parents. He wanted all people like her to die. I _never_ …" He couldn't say he had never hurt Hermione because he knew he had, just not physically.

"Sweetheart, Daddy is telling the truth," Hermione interrupted, drawing both Steven's and Draco's attention. "Your dad and I were not friends in school, and we were mean to each other, but he never hurt me." She smiled. "In fact, I hit him once."

Steven's eyes widened. "Why?"

"He was being a complete tosser."

"Mum!"

"He was!" she said, laughing despite the tears in her eyes. "Forgive my language. But he deserved it. Honey, remember all the stories Uncle Harry tells? About your dad?"

Slowly Steven nodded.

"Those stories are all true too. Your dad worked with Harry and me to defeat Voldemort. He worked tirelessly for years on a plan to bring an end to the most evil wizard of our time. He was a very different man from the boy I knew in school."

Steven still looked unconvinced and Draco had no idea what more to say.

"Remember when you fell and scraped your knee? Daddy took care of you. He picked you up and blew cool air on the boo-boo, then healed you, remember?" Hermione said, nearly pleading with Steven, tears in her eyes.

"Yes, I remember."

"He's still your daddy. He's the same man who fixes your scrapes, carries you when you're too tired to walk, reads stories to you at bedtime…"

"Steven," Draco said quietly but earnestly. His soon looked at him, his green eyes bright. "I used to do bad things. But I don't anymore. I am a good person now. Your mum wouldn't put up with me if I weren't. I'm sorry that you had to hear about it from Corlin. I had planned on telling you, but I didn't know when I should …. I'm sorry that your dad has such a horrible past, one you can't be proud of. I have spent every day of your entire life trying to make it up to you. I hope you'll be able to forgive me."

Steven stared at Draco for what felt like hours. "Your tattoo," he said finally, not taking his eyes from Draco's.

Draco looked down at his arm, the Dark Mark half visible underneath his rolled-up sleeve. Steven touched it lightly. Whereas once he had thought it neat and exciting, he regarded it now as though afraid it might burn or hurt him.

"What about it?" Draco said, his throat dry.

"It's … not just a tattoo, is it?"

"What makes you say that?" Hermione asked.

Steven looked at her and then back at Draco. "Corlin said … he said it was a bad sign. That he's seen it before."

Draco clenched his jaw and refrained from letting his anger get the best of him. Of course Corlin had seen it before: his father had the very same Mark branded on his arm. Briefly, Draco wondered if Blaise was anything like Lucius had been. Corlin certainly had similar characteristics to those Draco had had at his age: both basically bullies, wealthy, pureblood, prejudiced ….

Draco pulled up the rest of his sleeve, revealing the entire Mark. "This was the bad man's sign, son. He could communicate with us through this Mark. It was also the sign his followers put into the sky after they killed."

"You did that too, right?"

"Yes."

Steven looked at Hermione.

"Son, there are a few things more I need to tell you. I was not happy. I was … quite the opposite, actually: I was miserable. I did not enjoy what I did, I did not like hurting or killing people. As I said before, I didn't know what else to do, so I just kept doing it. I regret every single person I killed, every single innocent person I hurt. I wasn't strong enough to stand up to the Dark Lord in the only way I knew, which was to defy him outright. I would have been killed."

He paused and took a deep breath. "Then I met your Mum's parents one night, and they helped me see a way out, a way I could get out of the horrible situation I had landed myself in and still have a chance at a real life. And not only that, but they encouraged me to work to bring him down. I took their chance, and I have never looked back. I worked for years, as your mother said, on a plan, and with her brilliance and Uncle Harry's determination, the three of us pulled it off, though Uncle Harry was the one who finally killed the Dark Lord."

The three of them sat in silence for a few moments. Draco dared not look at Steven for fear of what he would see in his eyes.

The bedroom door opened and Layla cautiously stuck her head in. "Mummy? Emma's crying."

Draco looked at Hermione who was already getting up from the bed. She glanced at Draco and then back at Steven. "Coming, Layla."

After the door had shut behind them, Draco said, "Would you like me to leave you alone for awhile?"

Steven considered the question and then said, "Yes, please."

Hesitantly, as though his leaving the room might signify the end of the relationship he had built with his son, Draco stood and went to the door. When he opened it, he found Layla in the hall, standing as though waiting for him. Something occurred to Draco and he poked his head back into Steven's room.

"Hey, Steven," he called. His soon looked up. "Take as long as you need but do me a favor and don't talk about this with your sister."

Without pause, Steven replied, "You aren't going to tell her?"

"Yes, I am, but not until she's a little older. All right?"

"Okay, I won't tell her." Steven looked away and Draco shut the door, feeling panicked and helpless.

"Daddy, will you play with me?" Layla was watching him expectantly.

He sighed, finding it oddly amusing that while one child contemplated whether or not he would start hating him, the other still wanted to play. "Let me check on your mum and then we'll go for a walk. How does that sound?"

"Good."

Draco made his way to Emma's room where he found Hermione busy changing her nappy.

"How did it go?" she asked him. "You're out rather soon."

"I wanted to give him time alone. Do you need anything?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nope, Emma's almost tidied up and then we're going to read a book."

"Layla and I are going for a walk. It doesn't look like it's going to rain after all."

**ooo**

"I'm proud of you, Draco."

He closed the book he hadn't been able to concentrate on and set it on the bedside table. Hermione had just climbed into bed and was currently snuggling under the covers, something she did every night that never failed to make him smile. When she looked up at him, however, his smile had turned to a scowl.

"Oh? For which part? Failing to tell our son the truth before he heard it from somewhere else? Or managing to completely alienate him?" His voice was rife with bitterness and anger at himself.

"Draco…."

"He didn't look at me **once** during dinner and has been in his room with the door shut ever since."

"Draco, don't," Hermione said harshly, sitting up in bed. "You can't beat yourself up over this! You have done the best you could—"

"No!" he said, frustrated, getting out of bed. He threw on a dressing gown and went to the windows, his arms folded over his chest. "If I had told him everything even _yesterday_, things would have been different. They would **be** different now."

"You don't know that," Hermione returned, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "Steven may have reacted exactly the same."

"Did you _see_ him, Hermione? He _hates_ me! Wants to be as far away from me as he possibly can. He wouldn't even look at me."

"He's upset, Draco. Give him time. It's a lot to absorb, a lot to think about."

Draco fisted his hair. "I don't know what happens next! What do I do? Should I give him space? For how long? Do I try and talk to him again? What do I say? What _can_ I say that I haven't already?"

"You have to wait, love. Give him time to come to you."

"What if he doesn't?"

"He will."

He looked at her intently, his eyes blazing. "What if he doesn't?"

Hermione sighed and then shrugged. "I have to believe he will. Steven is a good kid, and you are a good father. It's natural for you to be worried about this because of the relationship you had with _your_ father. You never would have gone to him with any problems, but you are not Lucius and Steven is not you. You have a wonderful bond with Steven. I trust that the two of you will get through this."

Draco stared out the window and after a few seconds he opened it and deeply inhaled the scent of the sea. The wind blew through his hair and the stars were like brilliant crystals dotting the sky. He was reminded of the night many, many years before when Hermione had first kissed him. A wave of calm passed through him at the memory. Before that moment, he hadn't dared entertain the idea that something with her was possible, and he certainly never in his wildest dreams could have imagined he would share his life with her.

He felt Hermione's presence a fraction of a second before she snaked her arms around him. Draco pulled her around to stand between the window and he and held her tightly. He breathed in the scent of her hair and almost laughed: she smelled a bit of the carrots that Emma had eaten for dinner.

"You never let me tell you why I'm proud of you," Hermione said softly.

"Tell me."

"You told Steven you are a good person. I don't recall hearing you say that before."

Draco rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. "I haven't."

"You believe yourself, don't you?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

He didn't respond right away. "Yes, mostly," he said finally. "Of course, today wasn't a stellar example. I hadn't had a violent thought in almost thirteen years until I heard what Corlin was saying and saw how it affected Steven. Then I wanted to rip his tongue out and make him eat it, and then go to his home and eviscerate Zabini."

"Draco!" Hermione said with a shocked laugh.

"I'm not joking! When I realized where my train of thought was headed I almost laughed, but it was the least funny thing in the world. Then the thought even recurred as the evening went on. Of course I would never do it…. Do you think I should say something to Zabini at least?"

"You had a very natural reaction: the desire to cause pain to someone who was hurting your child. I imagine you just have a broader cache from which to pull images and ideas. I, for example, would simply think of hexing the boy and sending Zabini a cursed Howler that would make it impossible for him to ever procreate again."

Draco laughed.

"And no, I do not think you should say something. What could you say? 'Don't tell your son the truth?' That's the complete opposite of what we want for our family."

Draco's smile faded. "I would tell him not to poison his kids with horrible ideas about other people. Not only do I know what that's like firsthand, I cannot fathom a reason why Zabini would need to tell his family anything about my life or me. He's probably angry over … well, everything, even though he _did_ get off easy."

"You get significantly more positive attention than he ever has or will because of all that you did to end the war. If he's jealous, well, then he shouldn't have become a Death Eater."

"Still," said Draco. "I don't know if I can simply let it go."

"You can and you should," Hermione replied. "You're a good man, Draco. Far better than Zabini. Don't stoop to his level. It would not end well."

Something inside Draco surged at her words and he felt impossibly happy and invincible, as though her belief in him alone could propel him to do or be anything. "No, it wouldn't," he said quietly.

Hermione turned around in his arms and kissed him slowly and sweetly. He allowed her tender ministrations for as long as he could bear and then hungrily deepened the kiss, pulling her tightly against him and savoring the feeling of her soft, warm body flush against his. She returned his fervor, her hands making their way to the hem of his shirt.

When she started kissing his neck, Draco leaned into her touch and he whispered raggedly, "Tell me again."

Hermione stopped and looked at him. "You're a good man. The best I have ever known."

Draco stared at her for a few seconds, overcome by powerful feelings of love and adoration for his wife, and then picked her up and carried her the short distance to the bed.

**ooo**

Two days later Draco was in Diagon Alley after work to purchase a few things at the Apothecary. Hermione had given him a list of ingredients she needed for her current research project and it was easier for him to get them than for her to pack up Emma and make the trip.

He stood not so patiently in line, waiting for the person in front of him to decide whether she wanted the Australian leeches or Slovakian. But then of course, there were always Brazilian leeches to consider as well. As he stood, his frustration grew. If she took much longer, he might not make the four o'clock train. On particularly difficult days, Draco took the train from London toward his home for as long as it took to calm his nerves. Then he would get off at the next station and Apparate home.

Just as the shop owner was pulling out the Siberian leeches, Draco had had enough. He stepped to the counter beside the woman and said, "If you're brewing the Potency Potion, go with the Brazilian; if it's the Impotency Potion, use the Australian. Otherwise, save your money and get regular English leeches."

The woman appeared quite shocked at his behavior and after glancing nervously between Draco and the man behind the counter, she sheepishly pointed to the Australian leeches. Draco smirked and waited beside her as she quickly paid the two Galleons, 13 sickles for the item, and then hurried out of the shop.

Draco deposited his wares on the counter and the shop owner wordlessly began to ring them up.

"Well, well. Look who it is," came a snide, drawling voice.

Draco slowly turned around and found himself face to face with the very object of his recent violent thoughts. "Zabini," he said curtly, turning back to the counter.

"Haven't see you in a while. What are you up to these days?" Zabini asked.

Draco did not have any desire to speak further to his former friend and tried to send the owner nonverbal clues that he would appreciate it if things could be sped up. "Not much," he said.

Zabini moved so that he was directly behind Draco and spoke so that the shop owner couldn't hear. "Heard our boys had a bit of a dust-up the other day. I was glad to hear no one was hurt."

Draco didn't believe that for one second and then a very unsettling thought occurred to him. Over the years since the war, Zabini had shown himself to be the kind of man who would do anything, good or bad, for attention from the wizarding world. He had been through two nasty and very public divorces, had donated a large sum of money to a post-war charity and then filed for bankruptcy six months later. His most recent wife was a very beautiful witch with a reputation for infidelity and Zabini was likely biding his time until the opportune moment to make his split with her. In each of his previous splits, he was portrayed as the victim.

Draco's blood boiled at the idea and he scowled at Zabini. "I'm sure you were."

"Maybe next time," Zabini returned, any false mirth he might have had completely gone, his eyes dark and dangerous.

It was entirely possible that Zabini had told his son about Draco's past and given him specific instructions to taunt and goad Steven Malfoy whenever he had the chance, to the point that Steven would retaliate and start a fight. Zabini would surely make it appear, to the endless supply of reporters whom he would tell about the incident, as though Steven were following in Draco's footsteps with a tendency toward violence. He would then try to make sure Draco's reputation, which he had worked so hard to restore since the end of the war, would be tarnished, showing once and for all that a Death Eater is always a Death Eater.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Draco said, turning to face the other man. "A chance to see my name brought down a bit?"

Zabini grinned evilly. "It's only a matter of time, Malfoy. Everyone is merely holding their breath, just waiting for you to screw up. I admit, you've done quite a number to the odds, lasting all this time, but people _know_ you. They know your father, where you come from. You'll out yourself, and sooner rather than later."

Draco knew this conversation was headed nowhere, and fast. He knew he should back away, collect his purchases, and leave. As he stared at Zabini's smug expression, thoughts of Steven filled his mind: his son's innocent face, bright green eyes and full head of curly hair …. Nothing was important enough to hurt his son.

"That's three Galleons, four sickles, twenty-three knuts, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco turned back to the shop owner and doled out the correct change. Quickly the man bagged his ingredients and handed it to him.

"Stay away from my son," Draco said menacingly to Zabini once the shop owner had vacated the counter. "And keep your son's mouth shut."

"He can say whatever he feels the need to say, Malfoy." Zabini lowered his voice. "Just remember: I'm watching you, waiting for you to mess up, and I _will_ make sure the entire world hears about it."

_Walk away, walk away!_ the good part of his brain was screaming at him but it simply wasn't loud enough to be heard over the rushing in his ears.

"The same way you make sure everyone hears about how many times you get screwed over? Do you have Rita Skeeter on-call via Floo? How do you manage to get your sordid affairs written up every single time—you can't be _that_ good in bed … even Skeeter must have standards."

He didn't know why he said Rita Skeeter's name, why he implied anything at all; he was just so angry that he wasn't even thinking. However, he must have struck a nerve because Zabini clenched his jaw and before Draco knew what had happened, he was lying on the floor of the shop, staring at the ceiling and, quite literally, seeing stars in his vision.

Then Zabini's face was inches in front of his and his nose began to throb painfully. He felt something warm sliding down his face and knew that his nose was bleeding. His head also felt fuzzy and he figured he had hit his head when he fell and might have a concussion.

"You don't know anything, Malfoy," Zabini snarled. "Keep your traitorous, Muggle-loving, pompous mouth **shut**. If your little halfblood brat so much as looks at my son wrong, your name will be mud, just like your nasty, tramp wife."

He spat in Draco's face and then left the shop before Draco could respond.

**ooo**

"And you didn't hit him?" Hermione asked, running her wand over Draco's head to make sure she had completely healed the concussion.

"No," he said, holding a rag to his still bleeding nose.

Hermione crossed her arms and looked at him sternly. "You must have done _something_ for him to hit you."

"I told you! I only implied that he was sleeping with Skeeter, and he went nuts. I reckon I hit pretty close to the mark, if not spot on." He shuddered. "That's disgusting. She was too old when we were fourteen. She's got to be … forty years older than he is!"

Hermione shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. "Nearly thirty, I think. I remember in our fourth year she was in her early forties."

Unbidden, images of the dark, mysterious Zabini rolling around in a bed with acid-green, silk sheets with a pale, blond woman ran through Draco's mind. Skeeter's age was exaggerated and he shook his head to clear the images. His gaze met Hermione's and he could tell she'd had the same run of thoughts as he. They both laughed and Hermione turned her attention to his nose.

"I think it's broken," Draco said.

Just then they heard the fireplace roar to life and Steven stepped through with his schoolbag over his shoulder. He looked up to see Hermione's wand pointed at Draco's nose, a bloody rag in Draco's hand. The three looked at each other for a few seconds and then Steven hurried up the stairs and into his room.

Draco groaned when he heard the door shut. "Great. Just what I needed him to see: proof of my violent behavior."

"Maybe you should talk to him," Hermione said as she silently cast the spell that would right his nose.

He felt warmth spread from the tip of his nose toward his face and felt a slight jarring when the bones slid back into place. "Thanks, love," he said, reaching up and giving his nose a tweak. "Right as rain."

He stood up from the chair on which he had been sitting and looked in the direction of the stairs. He wasn't sure if he should talk to Steven now, or wait until he eventually came to him, as Hermione continued to insist he would do. After a few moment's of consideration, Draco sighed, cast Hermione a resigned look, and went into the reading room.

Layla came through the fire then and Hermione listened as she relayed what she had learned in school that day.

**ooo**

The next day Draco stayed late at work and when he returned home he was exhausted. He kissed Hermione on the forehead as she was helping Layla with her homework, and went outside. He stood on the porch for a few minutes, still in his work robes, before heading down onto the grass near the cliff. He removed the heavy outer robe and folded it neatly, then sat on the grass and pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms loosely around them.

He realized he was getting his nice trousers dirty, but he didn't care enough to get up. The sun was low in the sky over the water and Draco shut his eyes to breathe deeply of the rhythm of the earth. The smell of the sea, the sound of the water pulsing, beating against the cliff as though the earth was breathing. He hadn't taken the train that day, wanting to be home as soon as he could, so he was thankful that nature had the same effect of calming his nerves and washing away the strain of the day.

Steven still had not spoken a word to Draco since the day of his confession. Three days had passed and Draco was growing increasingly disoriented. His thoughts were so focused on his son, on preparing answers for questions Steven might ask, that he was finding it difficult to concentrate at work. He couldn't read, he was easily distracted, and he was having trouble sleeping.

Draco reached up and loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He heard the porch door open and shut and thought it was Hermione, come to ask him to make dinner. He waited for her call but instead heard a very soft, "Hi, daddy."

He whirled around to find his son standing on the bottom porch step, biting his lip. Draco's heart started pounding furiously and a thrill of apprehension pulsed through him.

"Hello, son," he said.

"May I sit with you?"

"Of course," Draco answered, indicating the ground beside him.

Steven walked over and sat down, pulling his knees up the way Draco had. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Draco's mind in overdrive wondering what his son would say or ask, and fearful that things would never be the same between them. Memories flooded his mind of things they had done together, going on walks around the house and always coming back with a collection of either leaves, sticks, or bugs, playing Quidditch in the yard, reading together on the porch. More than anything, Draco hoped that these things would continue.

"I went to Uncle Harry's today," Steven said finally.

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh?"

"Mum let me miss school."

Draco was so stunned he didn't respond. For Hermione to allow Steven to miss school was one thing, but then she had let him go to the Potters as well.

"I asked Uncle Harry about you," Steven continued.

"Oh."

"I like Uncle Harry. He's funny and he lets me eat biscuits before lunch."

"Don't tell your mother," Draco responded. It might have been a test, to see how Draco would react since Hermione usually did not let their children eat sweets before meals. It might also have been a way for Steven to see how Draco would react to _Harry_ being the one allowing the biscuits.

"Do you like Uncle Harry?"

"Yes, I do. He is a very good person and a friend. He was the first person after Hermione's parents to give me a chance."

"I asked him to tell me all about you and his story was similar to Mum's. You were awful in school and then you joined the Death Eaters."

Draco cringed at hearing the title from his child's lips and subconsciously rubbed his marred arm.

"He didn't hear much about you, except in reports of things you had done," Steven continued. "They weren't very nice things. But then you turned yourself in and told him you wanted to work with him to defeat Voldemort. He accepted and you eventually became friends, then very good friends. Right?"

"Yes."

"He told me how many times you saved his life, and got hurt so that he wouldn't."

Despite feeling as though he might be sick at any moment, he smiled. "Your mum learned healing magic and saved _my_ life a few times."

"He told me you never hurt Mum. Except when you let her think her parents were dead."

"One thing you have to know is that I didn't do what I did for your mother. I knew my plan would affect her, and I accepted it. I did it for me, because I detested my life working for Voldemort. Over the months I spent with Harry and Hermione, I ... grew to love her, and she couldn't resist my devastating wit and good looks."

Steven frowned. "I thought she kissed you first. Uncle Harry told me."

Draco chuckled. "Yes, she did. She took a chance on me and I didn't think I deserved it, but she disagreed." He chuckled. "You know what Mum is like when she and I disagree about something. Merlin, I love that woman."

He glanced to his right at Steven and saw him smiling. Draco felt good. The conversation was going well, and Steven was being very mature, which wasn't terribly surprising because he was also Hermione's son.

"I knew your life wasn't always good," Steven said quietly, as though worried about how Draco would react.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, feeling surprised and slightly unnerved.

Steven shifted and crossed his legs, looking at the ground. "Before you and Mum put Silencing Charms on your room, when I was younger. You had ... dreams. I heard you yelling things ... Like 'don't hurt her' or 'let him go' or ... worse things. You always sounded really scared; sometimes I thought someone was in the house.

"But then you would stop yelling and after a few minutes, Mum would come into my room and check on me. Usually I pretended to be asleep, but once she caught me awake and told me you had just had a bad dream."

Steven paused. "Mum never had dreams like that."

Draco felt slightly numb, amazed at Steven's perceptiveness.

"No," he said simply.

"Do you still have them?"

Draco sighed. "Yes, though not nearly as often as I used to."

"What happened to your nose yesterday?" Steven asked.

"I'm glad you asked. I didn't want you to think I go out picking fights."

"You got in a fight?" he asked in an awed voice.

"Sort of. It was mostly verbal, but I said something the other bloke didn't like and he hit me. I wasn't ready for him, and I certainly _wanted_ to hit him back. I reckon it's a good thing he hit me so hard that I couldn't retaliate."

"Did it hurt?"

"Yeah, it did, but I've had worse."

"When you were a Death Eater?"

Draco cringed again. "Yes."

"Are there still Death Eaters?"

He took a few minutes to consider how best to answer the question. "Death Eaters worked for Voldemort, and he is dead. However, there are still people who have the same ideas that Voldemort had. There are still people who think wizards and witches should have pure blood, that people like your mum shouldn't be allowed to learn magic."

"Are you pureblood?"

"Yes."

"Am I?"

"No, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that you are a good wizard and you don't use magic to hurt people, that you are accepting of those who are different from you." Draco smiled at Steven. "I'm not worried about that in the least. You're already a much better person than I was at your age."

Steven frowned. "Corlin said something about dirty blood. That I had dirty blood."

Draco clenched his jaw and wished once again he had hit Zabini. "There is a word that people like Death Eaters use for people like your mother, who have Muggles parents. Do you know it?"

"No."

"I don't want to ever hear you say it, do you understand? Not even among your friends, or as a joke, or in **any** way. Promise me."

"I promise, dad."

"The correct word is Muggleborn, but the bad word is Mudblood."

"Mudblood?"

"Yes. they don't have pure blood, so people say it's impure, or dirty."

"So Corlin said I was a Mudblood?"

"Not exactly ... he was referring to Mum."

It was Steven's turn now to get angry. "He insulted Mum? I should have hit him."

Draco partly agreed. "I need you to promise me something else, Steven, and this is very important. I want you to stay away from Corlin Zabini. I don't want you to be around him at all. Promise me."

"Okay."

"No fighting, especially with him. Promise."

"I promise, Dad."

"Thank you."

They had veered from the original topic and Draco wasn't sure if they would return. He needed to know where he stood with Steven.

"The sky is really pretty," said Steven.

The sun was nearing the horizon and the sky was brilliant with shades of pink, purple, orange and blue.

"Yeah, it is," he replied.

"Dad, about everything. Sorry I've been avoiding you lately. I had a lot to think about."

"Don't be sorry," Draco said hastily. "I told you to take all the time you needed."

"Uncle Harry helped me understand a lot about your past. You don't really talk about your family that much. I don't really understand everything, but I know enough, and I've known you my whole life. I think you're a good dad."

Tears pricked Draco's eyes and his throat tightened. "Thank you."

"I love you, Dad, and ... you said you hoped I would forgive you. I do."

Draco looked at Steven, who was watching him, and stopped fighting the tears. He reached over and ruffled Steven's hair, then pulled him into an awkward hug.

"I love you, Steven. I always will. Mum will too."

Steven nodded in his arms.

"Your name ... Malfoy ... will probably cause problems for you when you go to Hogwarts. A lot of people don't understand what happened, and some don't really think I've changed, even after all these years. I want you to be the best you can be. I know you've going to make us … make _me _… proud."

"Okay, Dad."

Draco let Steven go and smiled at him. "Want to help me with dinner?" Draco asked.

"Yeah. Will you help me with my homework after dinner?"

"Absolutely. Oh, there goes the sun."

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood beside Steven as the sun finally sank below the edge of their part of the earth. They watched the light begin to drain from the sky for a few moments.

"Well, we should get on dinner," said Draco finally. "Let's go." They both turned and started toward the house. "So what are we working on tonight?"

"Math. I don't get it."

Draco laughed. "I don't blame you. Are you going to play football next year? It'll be your last, you know."

"Yeah, it's fun. Not as much as Quidditch, though."

" Of course not," said Draco. "I like watching you play though. Want to go to the park this weekend, practice?"

"All right."

They reached the porch and Draco opened the door. When he saw Hermione, he smiled, putting all he felt into it, wanting his smile to speak for him. She smiled back, lighting the room, and he knew she understood.

**ooo**

**Disclaimer**: Even after all this time, I don't own Harry Potter.

**Note**: I received a scene request from The Wandering Star on FF that got stuck in my head and wouldn't leave me alone. I decided to write it and then decided to post it on the one-year anniversary of the day I posted chapter one of We Learned the Sea. I thought it would be a nice little anniversary present to all my amazing reviewers. I hope you enjoyed it.

**Beta thanks** to eilonwy, as always, for agreeing to meet my self-imposed deadline, for helping me through the rough spots, and all the usual stuff she does to make this story better.


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